


Break to Let the Light In

by peppermiintsplease



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad medical advice, Biphobia, Bisexual Erasure, Bisexual Male Character, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2020 (Supernatural), Doctor Castiel (Supernatural), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Engineer Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Graduate Student Dean Winchester, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infidelity Outside of Castiel/Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Medication, Overdose, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Sentinel Senses, Sentinel/Guide, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Smart Dean Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Teacher Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 79,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27637274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermiintsplease/pseuds/peppermiintsplease
Summary: Dean’s a Sentinel who is perfectly fine not having a Guide, no matter what Sam says. But when he meets Sam’s friend Castiel, he discovers not only a compatible Guide but a friend he’s desperate to keep.Dean needs to make it through his Ph.D. in one piece, and that means keeping a lid on his Sentinel abilities that threaten to run wild unless he keeps them under control. Dean’s methods of control are dubious at best, but Castiel is compelled to use his own skills as a Guide to help Dean deal with his abilities, even if Dean doesn’t think he deserves the help.
Relationships: Aaron Bass/Dean Winchester, Andrea Kormos/Benny Lafitte, Arthur Ketch/Dean Winchester, Balthazar/Meg Masters, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Lydia (Supernatural: Slice Girls)/Dean Winchester
Comments: 83
Kudos: 299
Collections: DCBB 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever attempt at large-scale, long-fanfic world building, and here’s hoping I pulled it off. Also, this is the longest thing I’ve ever written. o_O
> 
> Check out the art by LeafZelindor, whose drawings of hands for the cover art blew my mind. Uh-maze-ing. 
> 
> HUGE thank you to Mrs. Hays, my beta, who was off the charts amazing. Like, this fic would be full of grammatical errors and writing mechanics issues and confusing plot mistakes if she didn’t fix them all. She’s a gem, and I never want to let her go.
> 
> This fic is pretty heavy on the depression/self-harm theme, so if you find that triggering in a tough way, you might want to skip it. Additional warnings, in case you didn’t read the tags!
> 
> Content/Trigger Warnings: depression, ableism, rape/non-con/dub-con (mentioned, not explicit), suicidal ideation, self-harm/self-injury, recreational drugs (marijuana), infidelity (not Dean or Cas), child abuse (physical and emotional), mentions of sexual abuse (not Dean or Castiel as abusers)
> 
> Speaking from personal experience, thinking about suicide feels like shit. If you or someone you know if struggling with thoughts of suicide, help is available 24/7 through the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 800-273-8255. Visit them online: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/talk-to-someone-now/
> 
> You can also use text! Text the Crisis Text Line (or connect with them on their website: www.crisistextline.org):  
> US: 741741  
> CA: 741741  
> UK: 85258  
> Ireland: 50808
> 
> “We are all broken… that’s how the light gets in.” 
> 
> \- A quote often attributed to Hemingway but is likely an amalgam of Leonard Cohen lyrics and actual words by Hemingway

“Can I ask you a professional question?” 

They’re on a recess from court walking in the fresh air and sunshine after Castiel’s testimony, and Sam, an associate lawyer on the case, glances sidelong at Castiel when he asks the question but doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Maybe the details of the case are getting to him; it’s a difficult one, Castiel thinks. The mother and daughter Sam’s firm is representing are seeking a protection order from the girl’s father on the grounds of abuse and domestic violence, which is unfortunately common enough, but the alleged abuser, also happens to be very wealthy, and as a result, the man has a team of lawyers ready to pounce on any error. Castiel had been there as an expert to testify that the medical records of both mother and daughter indicated abuse, and he hopes his testimony is able to help their cause.

“Of course,” Castiel responds, tilting his head in invitation.

Sam glances at him again, fiddling with the strap on his messenger bag slung across his chest. He pauses, but then his words come out in a rush, “You ever heard of Sensinull?”

Castiel nods, his head tilting to the side, this time. Unrelated to the case, then. Sam wouldn’t look so conflicted about it if it wasn’t personal. “Yes, I have. It’s rarely prescribed.”

Sam hums in consideration, and then asks, “What do you mean? If it’s approved and everything—”

“Well, it’s not commonly needed,” Castiel explains. “I’ve been practicing now for four years outside of my residency and I’ve only prescribed it myself once,” and he still isn’t certain if it was the right choice, but the girl had been in so much pain—

“Why is that?”

It can be difficult for those outside the field to understand. Medication is often a double-edged sword, but Castiel attempts to explain in layman’s terms, “It’s what you might call a ‘heavy’ medication. It’s meant to dull everything, and I mean everything.” He considers for a moment, “It’s essentially a tranquilizer that specializes in the nervous systems. Sensinull effectively reduces everything you sense to approximately fifty percent if the research is accurate,” Castiel considers and lands on an acceptable analogy. “Have you ever worn foam earplugs?”

“The ones you squish up and shove in your ears?” Sam shrugs and nods his head to the side in consideration. ”A couple of times.”

Castiel steps out of the way of a man on his cell phone, clearly not watching where he’s walking, and continues, “Those block approximately thirty decibels in your hearing. It’s like wearing those, and whatever the equivalent would be for touch, smell, sight, and taste, but all the time.”

“Wow.”

“In addition, some users complain of feeling drowsy or cloudy. It can exacerbate symptoms of depression, which is why it has a so-called ‘black box warning,’” Castiel’s brother teases him for using air quotes when he speaks, but he never catches himself doing it in time to stop, “and a few of the subjects in studies where they were given too high a dose, it dulled their autonomic nervous system enough that they almost suffocated because they stopped breathing deep enough. And this happened in almost every replication of the studies that were performed.”

The previous almost vague concern on Sam’s face has blossomed into a wide-eyed stare. “So why even prescribe it? It sounds like there are only negatives, here. What’s the up-side?”

This is always the difficult part for those who are not Sentinels or Guides to understand. Why take a medication with such dire consequences if you get it wrong? 

“There are Sentinels out there who have practically gone insane from having their senses dialed up too high. They may fall into a coma from a zone, some can’t leave their homes because the sensations are too overwhelming, which makes it hard to find a Guide, and without a Guide, their chances of learning to control that type of over the top sensory information aren’t high,” Castiel has watched multiple Sentinels over the years struggle with coping with all the information they’re constantly taking in. It’s difficult to balance his own Guide nature with his job at those times. His intuition and empathic instincts, though not always reliable, don’t always coexist with what he needs to do to take care of his patients’ medical needs—taking a patient off of life support is particularly difficult—and it can be a challenge.

Almost no one knows he’s Guide. It’s not a secret, but it tends to put them off; people think that he’s going to read their emotions or some other over-hyped and twisted version of reality. In truth, Castiel can only very rarely sense emotions in people, and even then it’s mostly exclusive to people who have Sentinel-type abilities. The only reason he even knows he’s a Gude and was able to attend the courses to help him manage it, was because Anna had insisted to their mother he be tested for Sentinel or Guide abilities when he was a child after too many instances of what Anna called an "emotional response," and their father called, "being a Nancy." Their mother agreed, but he had been disappointed in Castiel from the start. Popular perception of Guides doesn’t see them as being nearly as valuable as their counterparts. Sentinels are in demand as athletes, police officers, FBI agents, firefighters— he’s heard that they’re particularly valuable as spies, but that may be a rumor. She had wanted a Sentinel, and she had gotten a Guide.

“That sounds… intense.” Sam’s worried expression has Castiel feeling disquieted.

He makes a noise of agreement and after a moment asks, “Do you mind if I ask why you want to know?” If Sam would like to talk, Castiel hopes that he’s well aware that he will keep whatever they say confidential. Besides, Castiel can tell that he’s bursting to tell someone… something.

Sam takes a deep breath and appears to internally struggle with a decision. Castiel feels it the moment Sam is preparing to tell him no, a slight _whumph_ in the air, so he puts a hand up, “Of course, if it’s prying, you certainly don’t need to tell me. I simply wondered if it was part of a case you’d like me to look through.”

“No, not this time. Thanks, Castiel,” Sam checks his watch, and then his phone, appearing to shake himself from his thoughts. “Hey, did you have dinner plans tonight?” He looks up from his phone to Castiel, an open expression on his face, the earlier concern cleared, put away, to be thought of another day.

“No plans. In fact, I need to go to the grocery store, as otherwise, I’ll most likely end up eating buttered noodles… again.” Castiel isn’t a very good cook and tends to eat out, but tonight he thinks he’d rather not deal with a crowd at a restaurant or the hassle of takeout.

“You know, as a doctor, you should probably eat better,” the grin on Sam’s face belies his disapproving words. “Actually I was asking because I wondered if you wanted to come over tonight. My brother is making dinner for me and Jess, and he always makes enough for an army. He’s a pretty good cook, too.”

“As long as it’s not an intrusion,”

“No way, Dean won’t mind. As long as you’re not vegan. Dean loves a cheeseburger.”

“Sam, the day I give up cheeseburgers is the day the world ends.”

***

Sam calls Castiel later that afternoon to make arrangements to pick him up for dinner. Once they've exchanged details, Castiel points out Dean's home is within walking distance of his own, but Sam insists on picking him up anyway. Castiel supposes it will be nice to arrive at a stranger's home in the company of his friend.

Heading to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, Castiel ponders what he knows about his friend’s brother, Dean. He knows from past conversations with Sam that his brother is a few years older, around Castiel’s age, and that he is currently in school, working towards some high level of degree. Sam usually speaks proudly of this fact, but Castiel isn’t sure he’s spoken about it more specifically. He knows that his brother Dean drives an older model car of which he’s very protective, that he likes classic rock (Sam does too, but he once told Castiel that he can’t let Dean know for some reason), and that he took it much harder than Sam when their father died. And apparently, he likes to cook cheeseburgers.

Typically, Castiel would balk at being invited second hand into a stranger’s home, but given how much Sam talks about his older brother, Castiel feels a happy anticipation in getting to meet him. He can put a face with the name at last.

His phone rings again, "Candyman" by Christina Aguilera filling the room and heralding his brother, as he fumbles his water glass to answer the call.

“What.” He flicks his fingers a few times in slight annoyance to dry the water that’s sloshed from the glass onto his hand.

“Is that how you answer your favorite brother?” Gabriel’s voice comes through the other end with its usual level of humor intact, despite Castiel’s less-than-friendly welcome.

“Your competition is Michael for that position. It’s not difficult to come out ahead.” He debates changing from his courtroom clothes. It seems far too formal to go to a dinner of cheeseburgers in a suit and tie.

“Whatever, sugar cakes. What’s shakin’?”

“Gabriel, I’m sure you called for a reason.” He strips off his tie. A sweater and jeans will do nicely over top of his button-down, he thinks. Casual clothes were not welcome in his house as a child, leaving him lost on occasions that call for casual dress. Even now he occasionally forgets that he owns a pair of blue jeans.

“Well, Cassie, now that you mention it, I do have a purpose.” Unsurprised, Castiel waits for his brother to continue.

The silence drags, Castiel not wanting to give his brother the satisfaction of asking. But Gabriel can never stay silent for long. The corner of his mouth lifts in a small smirk when his brother starts talking after a too-long silence.

“Fine, you’re no fun. Balthazar’s coming with me to the club tonight for dinner, and you’re coming too. I’ve got a new chef for my days off, and I want to try him out, so lucky you, you get to come with! Chef’s table, baby bro!” He presents this as a treat, though past experiences tell Castiel that if he attends, he’s in for an evening of loud music, bright lights, and yelling any conversation they might like to have. It’s not his type of atmosphere, and his brother and Balthazar know that well.

Castiel and the twins, Anna and Gabriel, along with their brother Michael were raised alongside Balthazar in the summers. During the school year, their friend went away to boarding school in France, his conservative family not approving of the education that he received in the United States. Though he returned for medical school after shocking his parents by telling them to “fuck off” when they tried to marry him off (it was an enjoyable story involving his parents interrupting what Castiel called an orgy, and Balthazar called a “ _menage a douze_ ,” and shouting that he was pansexual at his family), he now works alongside Castiel at the university hospital. He and Gabriel feel that Castiel needs to “broaden his horizons” and occasionally manage to convince him (usually by way of getting Anna on the phone) that a night out is a good idea. It nearly always ends in an atrocious hangover and regret. And usually glitter.

“My apologies, Gabriel. I have plans tonight.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then his brother says, “I’m sorry, I must be hearing things. Did you just say that you have plans?”

“Yes.”

“My brother, the hermit, has plans?”

“Just because I enjoy solitude—”

“Who are these plans with, then?”

“A friend.”

“A sexy friend?” One-track mind, his brother. Well, two tracks. Sex and food.

“While Sam is very handsome, I don’t think he or his wife would appreciate what you’re suggesting.”

“A guy can dream. Where are you going?”

“His brother is making dinner, and I was invited along.”

“Maybe the brother is up for it then.”

“Charming as ever, Gabriel.”

“I can’t help it, the charm just oozes from my pores.”

A car pulls into his driveway; he sees it from the corner of his window and recognizes it as the model Sam mentioned as his. “I’m hanging up on you now. Sam and Jessica are here to pick me up.”

“Pick you up! Cassie, I thought you said this wasn’t a —” Castiel ends the call with a shake of his head and a fond smile. Gabriel is exasperating, but he truly is preferable to Michael.

Sam waves from the driveway. Castiel makes sure he has his essentials and gets in the car.

“I told Dean you were coming, but I feel like I have to warn you he can be a bit of an asshole when you first meet him.” Castiel feels this is a bit of a strange warning, and that maybe he shouldn’t have accepted the invitation if Dean wasn’t a very welcoming host.

“You’re so rude about your brother,” Jessica admonishes Sam playfully, then turns in her seat to talk to Castiel, “Dean is a sweetheart. He _can_ be a bit rough around the edges, but you have nothing to worry about. Sam likes you, so Dean will like you.”

Castiel isn’t sure what to make of that. “That’s very comforting. I apologize I didn’t get a chance to pick anything up to bring over.”

“Nah, don’t worry. Dean’s a very casual guy, and I told him this was a last-minute invite.”

Castiel nods in appreciation, and they turn into the driveway of a modest light gray craftsman style house with a bright teal door and a huge black car in the driveway.

***

Dean is staring at his ceiling.

The ceiling fan is moving at a pace that makes it just enough of a challenge for him to follow a single fan blade around, but it gives him something for his mind to focus on while not having to think too hard. 

Today has been a difficult day. He had known from the moment he woke up that it would be, and purposefully chose clothes made of the specially woven fabrics created for people like him, but still, they chafed. He didn’t even make it to his yoga class which he only got into because his buddy Benny was the instructor. Turns out, Dean’s freakishly good balance makes him really good at yoga—it’s his flexibility that’s an issue for him. 

In class, his students had been louder than normal. Someone had spilled some kind of juice in the room where he was teaching, and then was cleaned up with harsh smelling chemicals. One of his students brought fucking tuna into class with him, and Dean had to fight the urge to gag. He couldn’t even choke down his own lunch, bland as it was, after being far too overstimulated in the morning. He taught his class, but he didn’t get any of the work done on his own research as he should’ve, and he was going to end up behind schedule if he couldn’t pull his shit together. 

The small irritants of the day had piled up until Dean couldn’t deal with them anymore. They are easier to deal with since increasing his Sensinull dosage, they usually feel further away, but when the hits keep coming, Dean has a difficult time keeping a lid on his temper. 

He hates that he feels like an oversized toddler on these days when the sensory information is just too much. He’s a grown man, and he should be able to handle it. But on days like today, all he wants to do is lay on his bed and maybe drink until he passes out. He’s startlingly close to tears for a guy who doesn’t cry, ever.

Alright, maybe he cries sometimes. But he’s got nothing to cry about now. He’s fine.

That’s where the ceiling and its fan come in. Though he goes through great pains to make sure his home isn’t terribly stimulating for him, his bedroom is one of the few places in his world that is truly neutral. Everything is painted and colored in shades of gray and white, with soft neutral accents and Dean truly feels like he can reset here. Mostly. On days when he feels like he’s going to shake apart with the stress of so much _input_ , he goes to his room and shuts everything down, stares at the ceiling, sometimes with a bottle of whiskey in hand.

Really, it’s a good thing that this has happened today when he only had office hours and a relatively short class to teach. His thesis advisor (and family friend) Bobby offered to give Dean the day off to get his stupid brain working right again (Dean’s words, though Bobby always frowns at him when he talks like that), but Dean was able to muscle through the day.

Dean begins to zone out. Not a true zone, where he gets lost in intense focus; no, fortunately, that hadn’t happened since he started taking the medication, and he’s able to stop them coming on sometimes with the tricks Dr. Alastair had trained him to use. But he allows the fog that’s constantly creeping on the edges of his brain to roll in.

Some days it’s hard to control the fog. Getting out of bed in the morning is the hardest, and some days he doesn’t manage it at all. Bobby is as understanding as he possibly could be, given that he has been dealing with Dean and his stupid senses for a long time. It isn't as bad during the day when he’s busy, but there’s always the sensation that if Dean stops moving he might never start again. Inertia is his friend and his enemy in equal parts.

So he keeps busy.

He spends most days running around campus teaching, doing research for his dissertation, and attending his own seminars. In the evenings he goes to the gym or for a run after a dinner of the blandest foods he can find (an occasional cheeseburger fills the void for all the flavor he needs), and when that’s done, he goes home and works on projects around the house from the list he’s constantly working from and adding to unless he’s working on his dissertation. He falls into bed every night, exhausted, and gets up and does it again the next day. It’s grueling and monotonous, but it stops Dean from losing his mind.

He remembers not having to do this as a kid. When he was a kid, the senses were kind of cool. He always knew when there was some kind of sweet treat available at his house. He was the best in their class at hide and seek (the other kids didn’t usually let him be the seeker, but when they did he was _awesome)._ He sometimes knew things that the other kids didn’t, like when his third-grade teacher got a new boyfriend (he could hear both ends of the phone call, and Ms. Schafer smelled like something distinctly _male_ ), or when part of the wooden playground had been rotten and he _told_ the other kids not to play on it. It had collapsed later in the week, and Amy had broken her leg.

When he hit puberty, things started to become too much. He caught a whiff of a girl’s perfume and nearly vomited in the hallway. The fire drill at his school when he was fourteen triggered a seizure and he was in the hospital for three days. He had a zone that lasted eight hours when he was in eighth grade because he couldn’t stop staring at the disco ball tucked away in the ceiling of the gymnasium.

His dad took him to the doctor after the administration at the school expressed concerns for Dean’s safety and health. His dad hated them in their business, but he reluctantly agreed that something needed to be done. The doctor prescribed him a sedative that made Dean so sleepy, he couldn’t concentrate on much of anything. They ended up moving near Bobby, who lived barely an hour from the psychiatrist his doctor worked with, who had been consulting on Dean’s case. Dr. Alastair taught him coping mechanisms to control his zones, and between that and the sedatives, he was under control. Mostly. His grades slipped a bit, but since they still stayed sort of average, no one really cared. The sights and smells and sounds were still all there, pressing on Dean, but he didn’t react to them strongly anymore, so again, no one really cared.

He looks back at his time in high school as if he is watching it in a movie. His friend Charlie tells him things that happened, and he sort of remembers them, but not with any real clarity. But hey, the doctor had said he was fine, and so he is. He’s fine. He doesn’t even see a psychiatrist anymore. He’s _fine_.

Okay, so the coping mechanisms are a little fucked up. And he’s got some memories of his dad that distantly he can see are problematic, and possibly he occasionally has nightmares about that, but they help. They do.

When Sensinull was released five years ago, Dean’s doctor wrote him a prescription without even doing an office visit.

Sensinull is better than the sedatives, but Dean feels like he’s experiencing everything with a layer of film over it. Everything is just slightly _wrong_ , and the best Dean can do is put it out of his mind. It’s been years, and Dean feels like he’s found a routine that works for him, even if he always feels a little… off. At this point, he can hardly remember what normal feels like. Most days he can even wear regular clothes and forgo the stupid, boring-ass Sentinel fabrics (they’re really not that bad, Jess could make a living styling people or whatever, and she picked everything out for him. Dean just resents that they’re made special, and they’re fucking expensive, and he can’t just wear anything he wants. It’s the principle of the thing).

Though honestly, Dean thinks to himself, what’s even normal for him? It’s been so long since he’s really experienced the full power of his Sentinel senses, he’s probably the shittiest Sentinel that’s ever lived. The FBI sure isn’t knocking on his door to help solve cases with his ‘superior intuition’ after all. He muddled his way through high school and worked hard to get through college and graduate school for his bachelor’s in mechanical engineering and then his masters in aerospace engineering, and now he’s slogging through to finish his doctorate. The Ph.D. is a bitch, so far, but Dean’s most of the way through. More than half, anyway. And he knows in his heart that without that drug, today would’ve ended in a zone.

Dr. Alastair had said that his senses weren’t steady enough or good enough for something like police work, and he was right. They’re inconsistent at best, and the Sensinull Dr. Gelbman prescribed is definitely his best shot at controlling them. Sometimes when he feels a zone coming on he needs to take other extreme measures to calm himself, but he’s not had to do that in several days, fortunately.

When Dean follows this path of thinking, it usually leads him to a day where he can’t get out of bed. Following this thinking leads him to a place where the medication isn’t wrong, _he’s_ wrong. 

Most Sentinels didn’t need prescription drugs and razors and burning pain to get through their day. Dean’s just fucked up. Most Sentinels can help people with their so-called gifts. Dean’s chosen a path purely for his own self-interest, according to his father.

Dean just isn’t a very good Sentinel.

He knows it’s almost dinner time, and that he promised Sam and Jess dinner tonight after a long day in court and school, respectively, but the thought of all those _tastes_ and _textures_ makes Dean’s stomach churn. He has everything downstairs ready to go. He had prepared the potatoes for fries the night before, and the beef is already seasoned and formed into patties (with one unseasoned for himself). All he needs to do is mix the salad and throw everything on the heat.

_Eating_ everything is really going to be the challenge.

As if his thoughts have summoned him, Dean’s phone vibrates nearby with a text, undoubtedly from Sam. He winces at the way the vibrations feel extra intense, and they shake him down to the bones. He squints at the screen to see two texts from Sam.

_On our way!_  
_Also I invited Castiel_

_Who tf is Castiel_

_He’s the doctor I work with sometimes. He was in court with me today_  
_Be nice to him_  
_He’s a good friend_

Sam’s rapid-fire texting nearly sends Dean over the edge, and though it’s probably not a good idea, he can’t say no to his brother. 

_I’m always nice_

_Yeah, ok Dean_

Of all the days for Sam to invite someone to dinner, it had to be a day like today. Dean takes a deep breath that his counselor in high school told him was supposed to be “calming” or some shit, and tells himself to get through it. He can do this for one night, and then he can close his blackout curtains, put on his headphones and his sleep mask, and pass out.

And if all else fails, there’s his trusty kit with a blade and a lighter in his nightstand. 

He tells himself to man up and drags his eyes away from the ceiling fan. The first few steps are a little jarring, but Dean finds his bearings and heads down to the kitchen. He gets to work on dinner, concentrating on one task at a time and pretending. Pretending the _beep_ from the oven and the _clang_ of the heavy cast iron grill on the grate of his stove doesn’t make him wince. He pretends that the smell of the beef as he pulls it out of the fridge doesn’t make him want to gag. He pretends so hard he almost believes it himself. He’s not sure how he’s going to force himself to actually eat, but one step at a time.

A few minutes later, fries in the oven, beef sizzling on the stove ( _pretend you can’t smell it_ ), Dean hears a key slide into the lock of his front door, and he pastes a smile onto his face. The door opens, and he calls out to Sam, “In the kitchen!” God, is his voice always so _loud_?

Three pairs of feet shuffle their shoes and coats off and there's a mummer of conversation.

"He's kind of a neat freak."

"You're being rude again." Jess's retort makes Dean's smile a little more genuine.

Then a deeper voice that makes the hair on Dean's neck stand up says, "It's a lovely house." 

Dean belatedly feels the cool air from outside, where it seems to have dropped a few degrees with the sun going down. A shiver runs through him that feels unrelated to the cold air, and Dean smells the scents he associates with his brother and sister-in-law. Sam always smells like file folders, though it usually depends on if he’s been researching or if he’s been in court, and today was clearly a court day. Jess almost always reminds him of whiteboard markers and wooden pencils. Then, he also smells something unfamiliar and minty, like clean linens, with a hint of something else that he can’t quite name yet but smells awesome. It feels like anticipation, but Dean can’t think of a reason for it. Until his brother, Jess, and a stranger walk into his kitchen.

Dean turns, the colander full of baby arugula tumbling to the ground from his loose fingers. The peppery greens scatter, startling Sam and Jess, but neither Dean nor this stranger ( _Castiel,_ his mind supplies) seems to notice.

“Fuck,” Dean states eloquently.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel rarely feels more than an echo of an emotion from another person, and even then only when he touches them directly. His family and close friends like Sam are the exceptions, usually. So the wall of intense shock quickly followed by worry and then a burst of panic makes him freeze in his tracks, startling a shocked gasp from him. He feels his heart pound.

The man frozen across the kitchen from him with salad greens in disarray at his feet must be Dean. Castiel can see the family resemblance, though Dean has lighter eyes and he’s a bit shorter than his brother, though Sam is quite tall. His hair is a lighter color, closer to a dirty blond, or maybe a very light brown. While Castiel is taking in some of what his eyes are telling him, most of what he’s taking in is visceral.

Dean’s worry is escalating into an anxious fear, and Castiel can tell the man is overwhelmed. In all senses, this man’s world is _loud_. To Castiel, he seems a moment from breaking down entirely, and Castiel can’t blame him. Dean is tense, eyes wide and confused, and when Castiel takes a stuttering step towards him, Dean takes a step back. The spell keeping them still and their eyes locked breaks, and Dean puts both his hands up in front of his chest in a motion that’s clearly telling Castiel to halt in his hesitant move forwards. His hands are trembling, and it makes Castiel want to grab them and soothe him until they stop. He forces himself to be still, so as not to startle the Sentinel in front of him.

“Uh, Dean? Everything okay?” Sam and Jess have frozen with them, clearly unsure of what’s happening. Cas can’t look away from Dean, but Dean is now looking away from him. He doesn’t dare take another step forward.

“You coulda warned me, Sam,” Dean says, and his voice is low, gruff. Castiel can tell the man is working very hard to keep himself in check, but it’s barely effective. He can practically see the edges of his control fraying.

Despite all that, Dean’s low voice sends a thrill down Castiel’s spine.

“Warned you? Uh, what?” Sam’s confused, and Castiel puts him out of his misery.

“I think what Dean’s referring to,” he starts, “is that I’m a Guide.”

Sam’s head whips around to stare at Castiel. “You’re— _really_?”

“You didn’t know?” Dean asks, and his tone is vaguely accusing.

“I swear, I had no idea.” Then to Castiel, he says, “You never said anything.”

“I don’t, normally.”

“Why not?”

“At work, it can—it becomes a problem.”

He takes another step towards Dean, he can barely help it. The man is practically screaming in pain to Castiel’s Guide. He stops himself again when he sees Dean flinch, running into the counter at his back.

Sam’s hand is suddenly on his shoulder, restraining. “He doesn’t really like to be touched.” The physical touch, combined with the proximity of a Sentinel that he resonates with so strongly gives him an up-close picture of how Sam’s feeling, and he’s definitely worried. And hopeful? There’s a fierce protectiveness there, as well, but it’s secret. He keeps it hidden from his brother, and Castiel is left wondering why.

If Dean’s senses are as strong as Castiel thinks they are, it’s no wonder he doesn’t like to be touched. But don’t they know he can help? That’s what Guides do! They help Sentinels deal with their senses so everything _isn’t_ so overwhelming!

Jess begins salvaging the greens that have fallen to the floor, and Sam steers him to sit in a chair at the table in the next room.

“Okay, so I didn’t think this would happen, but we can still have dinner, right guys? You don’t have to like, bond right away?”

“There won’t be any bonding, Sammy,” Dean grits out through a clenched jaw, walking through the doorway after them, and Castiel can practically taste the tension and a hint of what seems like fear rolling off of Dean, even though his voice sounds casual and sarcastic. He stops a small noise of protest from coming out of his throat, even though those words feel like a sucker punch. That’s _his_ Sentinel. 

“Dean—” Sam begins, and Castiel feels an argument brewing under his friend’s skin. Just being near Dean makes him feel like he can reach further, form a deeper understanding of how Sam is feeling when usually he barely gets a twinge. It’s a big change from how he usually feels, but Sam’s close relationship with Dean may explain why Castiel is able to read Sam better than most.

Dean seems to have recovered from the shock, though Castiel knows there’s tension just below the surface. “Sam, you mind if I talk to Castiel here alone for a second? The burgers need to be turned on the grill pan, and you can hopefully manage that without my supervision.”

Sam looks at Dean with an appraising eye for a moment, then seems to give up. “Yeah, yeah.”

Dean sits stiffly at the table with Castiel, seated as far away as possible, while Sam leaves to finish dinner. Neither of them speaks for a moment, and then Castiel has to ask, the question burning in his mind.

“You know, most people are happy when they meet a compatible Guide,” Castiel tilts his head at the Sentinel, “why aren’t you?”

Dean snorts in derision. “Trust me, man. We’re not compatible. And even if we were, it’s a bad idea.” Dean’s feeling something Castiel can only describe as _dark_. He’s doing his best not to pry, though he desperately wants to.

“Again, why?” What is it that’s made this man so sure they could never work?

Castiel isn’t sure he has the right words for the look he gets in return. “Cas, it’s just… my senses are all fucked up. I’m all fucked up. You don’t want a Sentinel like me, trust me.”

The feeling of Dean’s unease and discomfort inches across Castiel’s skin, and though the urge to reach out and soothe pesters him, he ignores it and attempts to plead his case to Dean. Being brushed off like this feels distinctly wrong.

“Please believe me when I say I’ve never met a Sentinel that I resonated with so strongly.”

“Dude, just because we matched up doesn’t mean we’re a good match. Promise, you’re gonna want to find someone else. And Guides always think they resonate with me, it’s just a—” he waves his hand, “—thing.”

This is _different_ , why can’t Dean see that? “This isn’t going to just go away.” Castiel is sure he can find statistics to back himself up, but he’s equally sure that Dean wouldn’t care about the math.

“I don’t see why not. It’s better this way. It’ll fade, you’ll see. Sam likes you, so you must be a decent guy. We can be friends, that’s it.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. What makes Dean think a resonation this strong will fade? When he was a child, and when he went to his Guide courses at the Center, everyone said the same thing: resonation does not go away. You can decide not to Bond, but you will always be able to feel each other when you are near. And if you have a strong resonation… well. They seemed to think there wouldn’t be an issue with both parties consenting to a Bond. Clearly, they hadn’t met Dean Winchester.

Dean excuses himself, muttering something about Sam probably over-cooking the burgers, and leaves Castiel to his own devices. At the same time that Dean leaves the room, Jess enters, carrying a tray with the rescued salad and a variety of condiments and burger toppings. After a muffled argument, Sam also appears with a serving tray filled with french fries and an irritated look on his face. No one speaks, but strained glances are exchanged.

When Dean re-enters the room he brings in the tray of finished burgers. He doesn’t say much besides a grunted “eat up,” and seats himself. Sam and Jess begin talking, almost as though to fill the silence that’s descended upon the small group.

Dinner is tense. Castiel learns that Dean is teaching as well as working on his Ph.D., which leaves Castiel impressed, though Dean waves it away, making the same indecisive motion as if to brush it away.

“It’s nothing special.”

“It must be a lot of work.”

Dean squirms in his chair, and Castiel feels his extreme discomfort with the attention, so he turns to Jess. “You teach as well, correct? Sam never stops talking about you.” Dean’s relief at the spotlight being taken off him is palpable. At least, it is to Castiel.

By the end of the night, Castiel feels as though he’s been through the wringer. He may not know Dean yet very well, but he already knows that he’s the one he wants to Bond with. He just needs to convince Dean of the fact. He can read Dean so clearly, but Castiel’s interpretation of the information is lacking.

***

Cas’s sister, it turns out, lives three houses down from Dean. Dean actually thinks he’s seen her on his daily runs, often working in her front yard early in the morning as Dean passes by. All he knows about her is that she’s an early riser and is willing to wave at near-strangers.

Cas himself lives less than five minutes away by car. It would take Dean fifteen minutes to walk to his house. It’s practically a miracle they’ve never run into each other before, but now they can’t seem to stop. Besides this, Sam keeps showing up with him whenever their friends get together. And their friends like Cas, so Cas stays.

Against Dean’s better judgment, he likes Cas, too.

The first few times they see each other after their tentative agreement, Dean holds himself so tightly he’s sore the next day. He can’t afford to let his emotions control him, not with Cas around. He works hard to keep any feelings he experiences in check, doesn’t partake in conversations that arouse a higher emotional state (when Charlie started talking about the mishandling of Daenerys in the finale of _Game of Thrones_ one night, Dean had to physically walk away). He doesn’t even eat spicy foods because he heard something once about dopamine being released when you eat hot foods. Better to not risk it.

His best technique is a distraction. Run. Don’t think about it. Work. Don’t think about what it feels like when Cas is near. Cas is quiet when nothing else is and is a soft light when everything is harsh. Dean thinks he needs to lay off the poetry. Fix the sink. Under no circumstances can Dean allow himself to linger on the sound of Castiel’s voice or his smells. They change all the time; Dean wonders why before telling himself to stop thinking about it. Or the way his hands look around a glass dripping with condensation — perfect and sure, graceful fingers that he’s certain handle his patients carefully and gently. He goes to Benny’s yoga classes, sometimes with Jess, and he channels his frustration into perfecting his poses. He definitely doesn’t think of the benefits of flexibility and how he might enjoy said benefits with a certain blue-eyed Guide. 

Dean uses a lot of distractions, but his best distraction is pain. Holding his lighter to his skin worked a lot better before Castiel came along. The blister it leaves high on his hip rubs slightly on his clothes during the day, giving him zings of pain to continue the distraction.

Sam keeps inviting him places, and Cas keeps showing up. Jess suggests inviting him to yoga, and Dean gives a non-answer. Dean pretends he doesn’t notice how well they get along when Dean drops his walls just a bit, and he pretends he doesn’t notice the looks he gets from Castiel that he definitely isn’t giving in return. When they share a surprised laugh at Sam’s expense sitting in his backyard, Dean sobers quickly and practically runs to help Jess with dishes in the kitchen. He’s not supposed to be getting attached or noticing blue eyes and cheekbones, and that jawline with just a touch of facial hair…

Long story short, Dean’s distracted, but not in the way he means to be. Which means he’s working extra hard to keep himself in check. Which means Charlie notices.

She calls him out on it when they meet for lunch after Dean finishes a lecture.

“So, Dean. What the frickety-frack is going on with you?”

Dean should’ve known better than to think that he could keep Charlie out of the loop. He picks at his sandwich. Ham and swiss on rye was a bad choice: the flavor is too strong. The smell of the dijon mustard makes him gag, so he’s picking at the edges of the crust. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve barely seen you, you’re always either working or working out; unless you’re just ignoring me. When we’ve been at the bar the last two weeks, you’ve been acting… well. Strange. Stranger than usual. And not _this place is so loud my head will explode,_ strange. You didn’t partake in the Benioff and Weiss bashing, what gives?” Dean realizes that more than anything gave him away. His annoyance at the last season of _Game of Thrones_ and the writers being tapped for the next _Star Wars_ movie are well-documented by his friends.

“Nothing gives, everything’s fine.” Dean’s actually been doing really well with not being bothered with the noise and lights in the bar recently. Probably because all of his focus is on not-focusing on Cas.

“‘Fine’ is Winchester for ‘not-fine.’ Is it Castiel?” 

Dean freezes. “What?” As usual, she hits the nail on the head. You win, Charlie, collect your prize.

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice that this strange behavior started at the same time he started showing up. And there’s, like, serious UST whenever you two are around each other. So?”

Dean hates that he knows what UST stands for. He also needs to get better at lying. Deflecting doesn’t work with Charlie, she’s like a damn pitbull. “Fine. Yeah.” If anyone knows his difficulty with past relationships, it’s Charlie. She’s been there for every crash-and-burn relationship up until two years ago when Dean stopped trying. She even stuck with him through what their friends laughingly call his “slutty phase.” 

“But please don’t say anything to anyone else.”

“Bitch, please, like I would. But what’s up? The dude is cool. I like him. Should I not like him?”

“You can like him. He is cool. I mean, he’s a fuckin’ nerd of the highest degree. He speaks Dutch. Who even speaks Dutch? Besides Dutch people, I guess. His favorite animal is bees, like what the hell is that? And he hasn’t seen _Star Wars_ , which is a damn tragedy that needs to be rectified like, now. He helps Sam rescue kids from abusive homes, and he saves lives every day. But he’s a fucking Guide, man.”

“So basically you’re telling me you’re in love with him. And you’re compatible.”

“Uh, no? How did you get that?” Dean said no such thing, he’s sure.

“You remember his favorite animal.”

“Yeah, because it’s _weird_.” They had all been talking about animals, Charlie had some list of the weird names of groups of animals, and Cas just out of the blue announced, “Bees have different group names based on which bees are involved in the group, and where the group is located.” When everyone stared at him, he sheepishly admitted, “They’re my favorite animal.” 

“Nah, you love him. I know these things. Besides, that was some serious eye-fucking at the bar when you guys thought no one was looking.”

“We were _not_ eye-fucking, Charlie, dammit. Just leave it, please? It doesn’t matter.”

“Winchester, I’m onto you. And Castiel is _into_ you.”

Dean shakes his head. “It’s just because he’s a Guide.”

“Hardly.”

“Seriously. His Guide senses or whatever tell him to find a Sentinel. So he did. And my stupid Sentinel vibes or whatever are fucking him over.”

“Uh, what? Are you talking about?”

He doesn’t know how to explain this to her in a way that makes sense to anyone but a Sentinel, but he gives it an attempt. “I’m basically tricking him, Charlie. Even if I don’t mean to.”

Charlie stares at him blankly. “Yeah, no. That’s not possible.”

“Charlie…”

“I don’t have Guide senses and I still like you.”

“It’s not the same thing. Friendship and Bonding are very different, you have to know that.”

“Yeah, but —”

“ _Charlie._ I know you think I’m ridiculous, but I can’t—I can’t do it again,” his throat feels tight, and he has to take a breath, take a sip of his soda, force himself to not think about the failed relationships, failed because of _him_ —

“Can I hug you?” Charlie’s tentative smile turns a little sad, and Dean doesn’t want it, doesn’t want to be touched, but he knows it will make Charlie feel better, and besides, he’s not feeling as acute today, the Sensinull actually doing its damn job, so it won’t be too bad.

He nods, and Charlie launches herself at him. He laughs, the pressure of her arms around his middle is an iron band that feels uncomfortable but not unbearable.

***

Dean walks along a footpath on his way to the library, contemplating a detour to the coffee cart near the science buildings; their muffins are pretty good when he's not feeling acute, but then decides against it. His thoughts wander as he continues on. His appetite has been low for several weeks, now. He's been relying on caffeine to get him through lectures, and he knows eating something will help him think better, appetite or not, maybe even help the migraine that's been building behind his eyes for the better part of the day… he's got a yoga class tonight so food is objectively a good idea. The top of the library building comes into view.

He thinks he probably should talk to his doctor soon.

His neck tingles, and he smells a minty scent that’s familiar, but he can’t place until—

“Dean?”

His name makes him turn around to look for the source. That almost sounds like—and it is. It’s Cas.

“Oh, hey, Cas. What are you doing here?” As Cas walks towards Dean, his headache seems to let up, slightly. The minty smell definitely has a hint of eucalyptus, and it feels soothing when he breathes it into his sinuses.

“Cas?” 

“Oh, uh. Sorry.” Dean’s been calling him Cas in his head since they met but has been trying to avoid doing it out loud. He thinks people probably find it weird when he nicknames them right away.

“I prefer it to Cassie, which is what my brother tends to call me,” Dean’s face must show his feelings clearly because Cas laughs. “Quite. I was helping a friend of mine, giving a presentation in her class about forensic medicine, what it’s like to testify in a trial. Are you between classes?”

“Just finished for the day, actually. Thursdays end early for me, though I usually spend the rest of the day holed up in the library researching for my own degree.” Dean catches himself leaning towards Cas a bit. He straightens up, admonishing himself for his weakness. Cas’ eyes narrow on the movement, which must have looked like Dean stumbled.

“Have you eaten lunch?”

“Not yet. I was thinking about getting a muffin or something at the coffee cart.”

“What were you going to have for lunch?”

Dean blinks at him. “... A muffin?”

“That’s not an adequate meal.” 

Dean almost laughs. Cas can’t help himself from doctoring, even when talking about food. If one of them complains of a pain, or not feeling well, Cas is always listening and ready with a remedy. Dean thinks it might be his mission to keep everyone in peak condition. 

“Haven’t been very hungry lately.” He puked up his lunch and dinner yesterday, in fact. It’s fine, Dean rationalizes, it happens sometimes. He’ll be fine. His stomach is just feeling a little sensitive. Probably food poisoning or something.

“Sam implied that you have quite a large appetite. Somewhere in the context of saying that you eat too much red meat.” Even the thought of red meat makes Dean feel a little green, and he wrinkles his nose in distaste, though right at this moment food sounds more appetizing than it has in days. “In fact, I’ve seen you eat three cheeseburgers and two hot dogs in one sitting in Sam’s backyard.”

Still, Dean feels obligated to reply with a surly, “Sam should keep his mouth shut. And that was one time!”

“Are you feeling okay?” Cas looks concerned, and Dean wants to roll his eyes. Doesn’t he already know the answer to that? Isn’t his Guide intuition telling him to save the pathetic Sentinel?

Dean answers sarcastically, “What, can’t you tell?”

“I probably could, if I tried.”

The damn head tilt. Every time. Like a puppy. Dean is so fucked. “Well, don’t.”

“Apologies. Would you like to get lunch?”

Dean’s resolve to stay away from Cas wavers a bit, “I should really be studying.”

“Even if you don’t want to get lunch with me, you should still eat something, preferably with more protein than sugar,” Cas starts to move away, a half step backward, the first stage of saying goodbye to someone you’ve run into on the sidewalk. “Have a good day, Dean.” The thought of Castiel walking away is making Dean feel nauseated again.

“Wait. Yeah, let’s go get lunch.” He hates himself a little for using Cas like human Pepto Bismol, but he hasn’t kept a meal down in more than a day and he _is_ feeling pretty shitty. His blood sugar would probably thank him for a meal.

They end up at an on-campus diner, where Dean looks over the menu for something that doesn’t make his stomach churn when he thinks about eating it. A simple grilled cheese sounds promising, or soup, though on a better day he’d be ordering the cheeseburger. 

“I think I’ll get pancakes with bacon,” Cas announces.

“For lunch?”

“I don’t believe pancakes should be relegated to a certain time of day, they’re far too delicious for that,” Castiel smiles softly in Dean’s general direction, and Dean feels the corners of his mouth begin to turn up in a smile in response.

“Amen to that.”

“What will you get?”

“I dunno,” Dean fiddles a bit with the edge of his menu, “maybe a cup of tomato soup.”

Castiel frowns, and Dean can practically hear the wheels turning in his head. Damn Sam for opening his mouth about Dean’s “large appetite.” 

“Nothing else?”

“Yeah, well. Like I said, I haven’t been very hungry lately.” Cas stares at him a bit, until Dean concedes, feeling awkward, “Food can be a challenge.”

“In what way?”

“It’s just a lot, some days. Sometimes it’s great because even though it’s got a lot going on it’s familiar, you know? Grilled cheese almost always has the same basic ingredients, so it’s predictable. Pie is always great. Cheeseburgers can be counted on to be made of beef and cheese. But sometimes it’s… overwhelming.”

“Because of all the sensations involved.”

“Yeah. I have to touch it, see it. Taste, smell, and sometimes the sounds are even too much. Sometimes it’s just easier.”

“To not eat.”

Dean stares at the speckled pattern on the tabletop, a poor imitation of stone. “I guess.”

“Well, speaking as a doctor, that’s not very healthy.” Cas looks disapproving like it makes any difference to him what Dean eats.

“I get by. Coffee isn’t usually a problem. I eat a lot of protein bars,” Dean smiles winningly. “You don’t have to worry about me.” Besides, he finds if he wears himself out with running or work, keeps busy with yoga classes, his brain doesn’t even have the energy to process the sensory information his food is giving him, which makes it much easier to ignore. And the Sensinull helps by taking away some of the information to process, usually. It hasn’t been as effective lately, is all.

Castiel frowns down at his menu but seems to accept Dean’s answer. Dean tries a different tactic, partially to distract him from this topic and partially because against his better judgment, he likes the guy.

“So, you give expert testimony in trials to rescue children, and you guest lecture classes. When do you actually act as a doctor?”

“I work at the University research hospital, primarily in the emergency room most days; my specialty is trauma. We all do some hours in the clinic as well, and I work with my colleagues on research.”

“Wow, and here I am trying to get college kids to care about heat conduction.”

“Teaching is an admirable profession.”

“I’m teaching Engineering 101. It’s not exactly breaking new ground, here. Not like your job.”

“It’s important in a different way. A world without machines and those who know how to make and repair them is not a world in which I want to live. Can you imagine a world without an espresso machine? I shudder to think.”

Dean gives a crooked smile. He privately agrees with Cas, but he can’t take even a veiled compliment without trying to downplay it. It’s infuriating that the man won’t let him. “My dad thought it was a waste of my skills, actually. He wanted me to work for the police, in some capacity.”

“You didn’t want to?”

“At first, I did. But, uh. I’m not steady enough. I’m not a very good Sentinel, it turns out.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Dean shrugs. “Believe what you want.”

Castiel looks at him appraisingly. Dean imagines that he’s found wanting.

They eat their meals with some small talk in between. It turns out Cas’s brother is a chef at a ritzy place downtown, and his cousin Balthazar, who Cas talks about in a fondly irritated way, has just opened a nightclub. His brother Michael is some kind of higher-up at what he calls a “mega-church” out of state.

“He’s been trying to get me involved in his missionary trips for years. But I refuse to go with them on the principle that if you’re offering medical aid and supplies to a group of impoverished people, it’s in poor taste to also proselytize to them. The amount of profit he makes at his church is… discomforting.”

Dean pauses, not sure what to say to that. “We were never big on religion. Me and Sam were actually both born here, but we moved to this small town when Sam was still a baby. And I mean really small. Really religious. Most folks went to church on Sunday. My dad was never interested, and then he pissed off a bunch of them when I was like, thirteen and my senses had really kicked off. They came to our house one day, wanted to do an exorcism on me.” Cas makes a shocked noise. “Yeah, welcome to rural southern America. Anyway, he told them to shove it. He moved us back here a little while after that, so I could see a doctor who specialized in… in people with issues like I have.”

Cas is silent for a few moments. Then, “I’m sorry that happened to you, Dean.”

He shrugs again, “It’s not so bad. Mostly I just can’t believe they thought an exorcism was the answer.”

“There are some religious sects that do not take easily to anyone different. I suppose if you believed in your own doctrine strong enough, a person being able to use their senses in extraordinary ways would seem like the devil’s work.”

Dean shrugs. _Extraordinary_ might be going too far. “That, and one time I freaked out because of the sound of the church bells. Right in front of the church. A bunch of them saw,” he gives a mischievous grin, “at the time it was awful, obviously, but imagine the looks on their faces. A kid is walking by and freaks out, right as your church bells ring? They must’ve thought it was the Devil himself.”

“Sounds like poor timing,” Castiel’s answering smile is warm, comforting.

“Sure was.”

Their lunch ends pleasantly, Dean enjoying Cas’s company. Without the distractions and stress of trying to behave normally in front of his friends, Dean’s able to admit that yeah, he might have a tiny crush, but that doesn’t mean anything, no matter what Charlie says. They end up exchanging phone numbers, Dean telling him to send a text next time he’s on campus for a lecture and they’ll get lunch again. Cas looks cheerful at the news, and Dean almost feels bad. He made it clear that they’d just be friends, right? No Bonding.

And if Cas makes Dean feel like the world is a calmer place, well. No one else needs to know that.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean goes to yoga every day that week. Benny only teaches on some early mornings and late evenings outside of the weekend, since his main gig is physical therapy at the hospital. Friday nights aren’t Dean’s usual, but they aren’t Benny’s usual either, so he’s a little surprised to see him setting up for the class, and a little sheepish. 

“You’re teaching tonight?”

“Jamie needed someone to cover. I’m a little surprised to see you here.”

“Why’s that?”

“Brother, this is the second time I’ve seen you today for class. And your log says you’ve been every day.”

“And?”

“Everything okay? You’re usually three days a week.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“You’re real stiff.”

Dean knows. His shoulders feel like they’re up around his ears.

“It’s fine, Benny. We gonna start this class or what?”

Benny gives him a narrow look, but he heads to the front of the warm studio space to fiddle with his phone attached to the speakers. Dean looks up from where he’s stretching on his mat to see Jess walk in. He waves at her, and she weaves her way to the back row to unroll her mat next to Dean’s.

“Didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Dean comments while Jess settles herself in.

“Benny said he was teaching, and I missed this morning. Seemed like a good make-up.” 

Gentle music envelopes the room as Benny turns away from the speakers to walk around the room. He greets the students he knows and introduces himself to those he doesn’t.

“I overheard him say you were in class this morning, too. Are you living here now?” Jess teases, sitting on her mat to mirror Dean.

“Why is everyone worried about that? Who cares if I came to two classes?”

“It’s just more than usual.”

He rolls his eyes as he leans forward to try and touch his toes, grunting a bit and offering up a bit of truth, “I’ve been doing a lot of running and gave myself shin splints. This helps.”

Benny stops by their mats. His concern aimed at Dean, as per usual. Dean barely stops himself from rolling his eyes.

“Shin splints?”

“Yeah.”

“You know that means you’re overdoing it.”

“That’s why I’m here, dude. Stretch these things out so I can get back to running.” He never really stopped running, just moved from the hard concrete to the softer outdoor track. It helps.

Benny just hums at him before heading to the front of the room to start class. Dean always likes Benny’s classes, he works them hard. He doesn’t slack on the stretches, but he leans more towards strength and balance, and that’s where Dean excels. Today though, Benny spends a suspiciously long time on leg stretches. He works them through a routine he says strengthens the lower body, especially hips, hamstrings, and feet. He advises them, while looking directly at Dean, that if they’re feeling any pain they should stop.

Dean glares at him.

When they finish with Shavasana, Dean stays on his mat with his eyes closed. Jess offers a whispered invitation to dinner with her and Sam, but he quietly declines, not wanting to lose his chill. He’s awake, feeling calm and open, the way he often does after a class. He’s able to track the movements of nearly every person in the room, and so he pointedly ignores Benny when he comes to stand over him after everyone’s left. He finally opens his eyes when he feels Benny sit cross-legged across from him.

“What’s up, Ben?”

“Was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“Did you seriously tailor your class to my fucking shin splints?” Dean sits up and mirrors his friend.

“You mean did I take a student’s injury into account when I decided what we were going to do tonight? I sure did, brother.”

Dean does roll his eyes this time and leans back on the palms of his hands behind him. “I ain’t injured.”

“Shin splints _is_ injured. Gimme your leg.”

“Just sore muscles.” Dean doesn’t move. He’s not touch-sensitive today, but he generally avoids contact. Just in case.

“Could be tears. Could be a stress fracture, or tendonitis. Give me.” Dean sighs and extends his leg. Benny holds it and maneuvers it gently into his lap, pushing the cuff of his joggers up to his knee, feeling up and down his shin. He motions for the other one and checks that leg over, too. 

“Dude, it’s just shin splints.” Benny keeps his hands on Dean’s leg and proceeds to massage the arch of his foot up to his calf, surprising Dean when it feels good instead of oversensitive. Christ, Benny’s got magic hands. His wife Andrea’s a lucky lady.

“You change your routine?” Benny’s thumb digs into a tight spot on his left calf, and Dean hisses.

“Ow, fuck. What?”

“Don’t be a baby. You’ve been running for years. Never knew you to get shin splints before. You been running on concrete? Get new shoes?”

“I probably need new shoes. I switched to the track at the school for now instead of the concrete.”

“You want me to do a new running analysis, compare it to last year?”

“Nah, I’m good.” When Benny raises a skeptical eyebrow, Dean insists. “Really, I’m good. They already feel better, I promise.”

“I’m gonna tape ‘em.” He pushes Dean’s legs out of his lap and heads over to his bag, unearths what Dean calls his “emergency physical therapy kit”.

“Benny seriously—”

“Seriously. You got anywhere you need to be?”

“No,” Dean grumbles.

“Then shut up.”

Benny pulls out several rolls of the colorful stretchy tape he uses. Dean knows it’s got a bunch of science behind it, but he swears this KT tape shit is magic. Benny’s taped him before, and it’s amazing how much it helps, so yeah, Dean’s gonna grumble, but he bets his shins won’t hurt anymore. Benny’s an asshole.

The process is fascinating to Dean. Benny rubs a wet cotton ball all over his shins and part of the back of his legs, something that helps the tape stick better, apparently. He watches his friend cut some strips of tape, and Benny chuckles at his snort at the colors: purple, pink, and blue. What a fuckin’ nerd.

Benny lays the first strip vertically down his shins, and Dean knows there’s some kind of technical stuff he does with the amount of stretch and tension on each piece, but he doesn’t ask for details. While Benny rubs the tape to make sure the adhesive activates, he reminds Dean, “make sure you’re giving yourself rest days between workouts.”

“I know.”

“Do you? You didn’t give yourself one this week.”

Dean wants to argue that he didn’t go that hard this week, but the shin splints speak for themselves. Benny continues with his taping, layering two strips over the top of each other, each with a split down the center. When he reaches the inside of Dean’s left ankle, his steady fingers pause.

“What?”

“What’s this scar here from? Looks like it’s only a few weeks old. Still pink.”

Dean tries to keep the tension out of his body but mostly doesn’t succeed. Benny lays the tape down over the scar.

“Cut my ankle.” Well, it’s not a lie.

“How’d you do that?”

“Broke a glass.”

“Looks like it got you pretty good,” Benny says quietly, intent on his movements, making sure the tape lays flat, rubbing it in to activate the adhesive.

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice sounds brittle to his own ears, but Benny doesn’t call him on it, just pats his taped shins.

“All done. Should last through the weekend. I’ll tape ‘em again if they still hurt next week.”

“Sounds good.” Dean busies himself rolling up his mat and sliding his shoes onto his feet. His shins actually do feel better. Maybe he won’t run tonight. “Thanks, Benny.”

“Anytime, brother. You take care of yourself. See you next week.”

“Yeah, see ya.” Dean gives him a cheeky salute, which makes the corners of Benny’s mouth turn up, though he definitely tries to stop them. Benny shakes his head, and Dean grabs his bag on the way out to the Impala.

***

Dean wakes up on Saturday feeling wrong.

It happens sometimes. His senses, usually far too strong even with his medication, take a nosedive, and he feels blind and lethargic without them at their usual strength. The thing is, it fucks up _everything_. He needs extra light to be able to see. He struggles to do simple tasks, even brushing his teeth, because he can’t feel the things in his hands, against his skin. It’s what he imagines being a ghost must be like.

He doesn’t get what happened. Yoga went great last night, and now, what? He’s being punished? 

On these days, Dean’s insubstantial. He’s sure he’d disappear if he closed his eyes. Dr. Alastair always told him it was all in his head, another symptom of his malfunctioning system.

_“You need to learn to control yourself, Dean-o. If you had better control, you wouldn’t have highs and lows. You need to teach your body to feel things correctly.”_

Alastair would take his blade and instruct Dean how to cut himself, how to maintain control of his nature. He has learned all of the ways to hurt himself with the least amount of permanent damage and all of the ways to hide it. Dean knows that his ankles are a particularly painful place to cut - the scars typically go unnoticed unless he screws up like he did with Benny. His hips, the insides of his thighs, and the space on his torso under his arm are all safe places. When he uses the lighter and burns himself, he tries to keep it in a plausible place like his fingers and hands. He’s got a bit of a reputation for being clumsy around fire, but that’s okay. It’s better than people knowing the truth.

Dean lays on his bed, trying desperately to convince himself that he doesn’t need to hurt himself, but laying on his bed with his eyes closed makes him feel like he’s floating in space, drifting with nothing to bring him back down to earth. When he opens his eyes, the world swims in front of him, dark—thanks to the curtains—disorienting him further. 

With clumsy fingers, Dean searches in his bedside table for the little tin that contains his supplies. A little knife, a razor blade, his lighter. Some antibiotic wipes and bandages. When Dean takes care of his wounds, he scars less, and the chances of people finding out are lower. His dad taught him that one.

Dean’s not an idiot. He knows that the mechanisms Alastair taught him are fucked up. But he’s never found anything that works nearly as well as a sharp pinch of pain when he’s feeling like this. And if he’s honest with himself, does it matter? Does it matter if Dean feels a little pain? He’s only hurting himself.

When he finally comes across the tin, he’s already decided that cutting is out for now. Not if Benny’s gonna insist on checking up on Dean’s shin splints. Burns, then. Dean can practically feel the kiss of the hot flame on his fingertips, a feeling that will be blissfully aggravated without making the wound worse in the shower when he washes his hair in the hot water.

It’s possible Dean lets the lighter burn a moment too long when the pain doesn’t immediately grant him a reprieve. Looking at his fingertips, the burn looks more severe than usual, singed along the edges. He still feels like he’s going to drift away. He still feels wrong. 

_That’s because_ you’re _wrong, kiddo. Get control of yourself, you’re an embarrassment. How can you expect to find a Guide when you’re not in control of yourself? At this rate, you’ll never deserve one._

Dean takes a shower, treats the burns on his fingertips, barely able to spread the burn cream with as numb as he feels, then lays down again. 

When his phone rings an unknowable amount of time later, he ignores it in favor of letting his mind and body drift through space, but by the time the phone rings again, he realizes that the persistent caller isn’t going to stop. He gropes for the phone and answers, his voice coming out softer than he intended, his tongue lazier. God, fuck these days.

“H’lo,”

“Dean?” Oh, it’s Sam.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“‘M fine, Sam,”

“You sound like you’re drunk.”

“‘M not.”

“Are you still coming over today? It’s almost four and you said you’d be by around two.”

Dean was supposed to help Sam fix some of the shit around his house, fucking fuck. He can’t use tools like this, but maybe he could still go over to direct Sam? “Fuck, sorry,” the words come out a little sloppy, practically whispered.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“I’m coming over.”

“No, Sam—“ Click.

Fuck. Dean hates Sam seeing him like this. Dean loses minutes thinking about another time Sam realized Dean was having a hypo-sensitive day when they were still living together before Sam moved out and married Jess. Sam found him in the kitchen holding his wrist over the flame of a candle, moving it closer and closer, feeling the heat begin to burn his skin. It was another technique Alastair had taught Dean. He had just reached the flame when Sam walked in the door. He just about lost his mind when he saw what Dean was doing, grabbed him, and shoved his hand under the cool water of the sink while Dean just stared at him in surprise. He hadn’t known it would upset Sammy that much, not enough that there would be tears in his eyes when he saw the damage the stove had done to Dean’s wrist, and it wasn’t even that bad. Barely blistered. Sam hasn’t walked in on Dean doing anything like that in a long time, but every time Dean shows up with a new visible bandage, his brother eyeballs it darkly.

Sam had been privy to way too many episodes of Dean’s dad pulling him out of a zone using Alastair’s methods. Dean hates being a living reminder of that trauma for his brother. He’s sure that if he had just tried harder, he would’ve been able to stop them.

“Dean!” Sam’s call up the stairs has Dean opening his eyes again (when had he closed them?). Dean listens to Sam’s footsteps up the stairs, until the door creaks open.

“Dean?”

“You didn’ hafta come over.” Damn, his voice is still coming out softer than he means it to.

“You’re having a shitty day, huh?”

Understatement. “Can’t feel anythin’.”

“What do you mean?”

“Feel like I’m gonna float away.” Dean hates how hard words are right now. It’s like his body is drunk, but his thought processes aren’t. Sam looks at him with something like pity, and Dean hates it.

“Have you even left this room today? Have you been sleeping?”

“Took a shower,” he definitely isn’t going to let Sam see what is surely a massive bruise on his knee from falling in the shower, “an’ kinda.” Sleeping when he’s like this is weird, almost like a trance.

“Did you take your meds this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“What about food?”

“Not hungry.”

“I know. You’re not anything, huh?” Sam frowns down at him from where he stands, “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll come with you,” Dean starts to shift his weight to get out of the bed, but Sam stops him.

“No, I don’t even want you trying to walk downstairs right now, your spatial awareness goes all haywire when you’re like this.”

The reminder of what a burden Dean is sends a bolt of guilt down his spine. Dean knows Sam left for more than a minute because he’s got a mug full of soup in one hand and a blanket in the other, but he could’ve sworn it was barely a blink.

“You’ve got to eat, big brother. And also I brought you this. It’s a weighted blanket,” Sam sets the soup down and drapes the blanket over Dean’s lap once he sits up to take the soup, and he feels… something. “I figured it couldn’t hurt. I originally got it for your insanely sensitive days, but you said you felt like you were going to float away? Maybe this can weigh you down a bit.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Eat your soup.”

Dean eats a little bit, very carefully concentrating on the spoon so he doesn’t spill, mostly drinking it from the mug, and Sam makes him drink a whole glass of water, with three other filled water bottles sitting next to him that weren’t there before. Dean still doesn’t feel right, but he feels a little bit better. His mouth seems to work better, at least. Maybe it was just dry.

Sam bites his lip and generally looks like he’s uncomfortable. Like he has something he wants to talk about, but he doesn’t want to do the talking or doesn’t know where to start. Dean sighs.

“Spit it out, Sam.”

“I think you should stop taking Sensinull.”

That’s insane. “What? No.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. Sam, I can’t function without it. You think I could stand up and teach a class when I can’t stop noticing every fucking thing going on around me? And what happens if I have another serious zone? Because everything fucking triggers a zone when I don’t take it.”

“But it triggers these episodes, too —”

“I’ve always had these ‘episodes,’ dude. It’s all part of my fucked up brain.”

“They’re so much worse when you take Sensinull—”

“Sam. I appreciate that you’re worried, but I’m fine. My brain will come back online, and then everything will be back to normal. Alastair said that these periods happen—”

“Dr. Alastair was a _psycho_! Dad found him through one of those bullshit groups that think Sentinels are just making shit up. He went to prison for what he did to you and to those other kids for a _reason_ ,” Dean ignores Sam, he always ignores Sam when he talks about Dr. Alastair, but can’t ignore his next statement of “and I think you should get another opinion.”

“Another opinion on _what_ , exactly?”

“Just another perspective. Another doctor, maybe one who specializes in Sentinel and Guide treatments. Cas could probably recommend someone.”

What Sam’s saying makes some sense, but Dean doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to switch doctors, especially since he can simply call Dr. Gelbman for a new prescription and the man doesn’t even make him come in for an office visit more than once a year. He knows it’s probably not right, but who cares? It’s easier, and the guy knows his entire history.

Sam’s distracted by his phone ringing. He takes a glance down at his caller ID and looks worried, clicking the screen to answer the call.

“Yeah? Oh, hell. Seriously? It’s Saturday. They had to confess today, huh? Figures. I can be there in an hour. Yeah. Yeah. I’ll see you there.” He hangs up with a sigh, running his hand down his face. He turns to Dean. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call Jess, see if she’ll come sit with you.”

“Sam, don’t. I’m fine. Thank you for coming by with the blanket and everything, but I’m honestly already feeling better. The blanket helps, I’m gonna try to sleep.”

“Well,” Sam worries at his lip, pausing and weighing his options, “are you sure? I mean, you sound better. You can string whole sentences together, at least.”

“Seriously, I’m good. Go do lawyer things. Save the children, and all that.”

“Yeah, alright. Answer the phone next time I call.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

“Jerk. I’m calling you tonight to check up on you.”

“Fine, fine. Get out of here.”

Sam heads out with one last worried glance at Dean. Dean knows that Sam isn’t going to drop his line of questioning, but he’s fine. He’s _fine._


	4. Chapter 4

When Dean wakes up the next day, he’s not fine. It’s like everything his senses had been suppressing the day before has decided to remind him of its presence. He barely chokes down water all day (it’s too cold, too _wet_ ), and he lays in his dark room, fans and air conditioning off, the circulating air makes him shiver so badly he drops one of the bottles of water Sam left, and hopes for his brain to fucking chill the fuck out, because he cannot go to work like this tomorrow. He’s already lost two days of work on his dissertation, he can’t get behind in classes too. He wants to scream, but he knows from experience that it doesn’t help.

He can’t sleep like this, so he closes his eyes and simply breathes.

Time drags by. Dean counts his breaths until he gets to 100 and then starts over.

His phone vibrates downstairs. It’s three rooms away, but it’s a dentist drill into his brain. He squeezes his eyes shut harder, convinces himself that if he pretends he can’t hear it the sound will go away. Eventually, it does but only for a moment because whoever was calling him is calling again. And again. A series of shorter vibrations indicate there are text messages coming through. Another call. The hornet’s nest of a voicemail.

When they first learned of Dean’s senses as a Sentinel, it was presented to them as a blessing. Dean had a bright future in front of him, doors open for Sentinels because of their superior senses; they tend to be more intuitive, they work in elite teams in various levels of law enforcement, they’re the best surgeons in the world, the best of the best of the best in almost every field.

What a disappointment Dean has turned out to be. Struggling through his doctorate just so he can teach at the college level, slogging through research day in and day out. He might find a position in a research university, but he’s just as likely to be trapped teaching Engineering101 at some for-profit university that only exists online. What legitimate university would hire him when he can’t control himself? Why the hell does he even try?

A key turns in his lock downstairs, distracting him from his spiraling thoughts, and he winces at the sound of the pins dropping into their slots. Why hasn’t he invented a quieter door? That’s what a good Sentinel would do. He could invent a quiet room. Like entering a zone, but without actually entering a zone.

Feet thunder up the stairs, and Dean’s breathing becomes ragged. He clenches his teeth and forces himself to breathe normally.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice is a jet engine, and Dean doesn’t have earplugs. The light is bright when Sam pulls the blanket down, and Dean’s groan bounces around the inside of his skull. He unclenches his teeth, loosens his jaw muscles from their tense state.

“ _Quiet,_ ” he breathes out, and Sam seems to understand. Dean imagines he hears the ‘click’ of the situation registering in his brain, and Sam settles the weighted blanket back on top of his brother. He had been right that the weighted blanket was helpful, but it wasn’t enough to block the overload of everything else.

Dean is fortunate, he thinks, that even though Sam came blundering in here like an idiot, he really does know what to do for his brother. Dean can picture what Sam is doing from the sounds easily, can tell where Sam is in the house based on feeling alone. His noise-canceling headphones (sometimes helpful, sometimes not) are placed on the bed beside him. A water glass is filled, probably with water as room temperature as Sam can make it. A bucket near the bed in case Dean loses the battle with his impending migraine and it’s too much for his stomach. There are tapping fingers on a phone screen, probably texting Jess.

Dean thinks he must be making excuses to Jess again, letting her know he’s taking care of Dean. Jess and Sam must resent him for this, for the amount of time it takes to deal with Dean, for the special precautions they have to take so they can be in his life. Both Jess and Sam use unscented everything, and they work harder than Dean would ever ask them to make him feel comfortable. He should’ve applied to a university farther away so they don’t have to put up with his shit—

“Dean,” it’s quieter this time, though Dean still winces with his head under his pillow. “I’m gonna be downstairs,” Sam hates leaving him alone when he’s hypersensitive, Dean knows. Sam’s footsteps go down the stairs, and Dean is at least blessed with a brother who likes to read because the only sounds he hears are turning pages, occasional fingers tapping on a touch screen, and the comforting beat of his brother’s heart.

***

Castiel feels unsettled, rattled. Not much can hold his attention for long. He cleans his relatively small house from top to bottom, even going so far as to pull out the refrigerator from the wall so he can clean behind it. His small garden gets a very thorough weeding and watering, and he’s trying to settle down into a book, but his thoughts keep going back to the same subject.

Dean.

It’s unfair, Castiel thinks, that Dean is not only one of the most innately good people he’s met, but that he’s ridiculously attractive. Earlier in the week, Castiel caught a glimpse of him leaning over the table at the restaurant they were in to grab something from the other side, and Castiel’s dreams for days consisted of Dean leaning over that table for a very different reason, wearing far less clothing.

Dean’s an ass, of course (with a great ass, it has to be said). He’s often blunt, makes dirty jokes, and he’s a terrible flirt. He’s got clear abandonment issues, and from what Castiel has gleaned from both brothers, Dean and Sam had a fairly traumatic childhood. Dean constantly puts himself down, and it frustrates Castiel that the others don’t seem to see that the jokes Dean makes often aren’t jokes at all; the only thing Dean is secure about, it seems, is that his purpose above all others is to watch out for Sam.

He’s also the one who gave Castiel his first non-objectionable nickname almost immediately, and now when he says it there’s a fond undertone that Castiel—Cas—simply basks in. Dean is proud as a parent of Sam’s many accomplishments. He constantly goes out of his way to help his friends, as evidenced by the dozens of stories that have been hinted at, like Dean digging Charlie’s house out of a blizzard when she was snowed in, Dean helping Benny re-build his old truck when it gave up on him and he didn’t have the money to fix it, Dean driving Sam to and from work every day for a month when Jessica needed the car and Sam wouldn’t admit they needed a second one. Dean bringing soup when someone’s sick, Dean buying drinks, Dean giving a hug despite clear discomfort on his part, Dean, Dean, Dean.

Dean’s not felt well, lately. And Cas can tell. The dark circles under his eyes are telling, and his face looks more pale than usual. And have his cheekbones always been quite so pronounced? Cas isn’t sure. He does his best to keep his empathy in check around the man, but he’s sure that Dean walks a bit stiff sometimes, like his ankle or his foot bothers him, or he’s got sore muscles, and he knows he felt something sharp and painful the other day when his hand brushed at Dean’s hip accidentally. Dean said he was fine, but Cas can’t stop thinking about it. Dean’s not fine.

Still, he hasn’t known Dean that long. Perhaps he goes through these periods, some people do, he knows. He’s working on his doctorate, and Cas knows from his own experiences with higher-level education that it’s no picnic. He remembers many nights fueled only by coffee and manic paper writing and unhealthy snacks. 

Dean’s not been eating much, either. Around the time they first met, he remembers being honestly shocked at the sheer volume of food Dean consumed in one sitting, and it’s almost as though it’s been on a steady decrease ever since then. True, Dean eats a decent meal size when they meet for lunches, the single cup of tomato soup the first time notwithstanding, but he often tells Cas that he skipped breakfast, or didn’t have time to make dinner the night before. Small things that add up.

He texts Dean _How are you doing today? Would you like to get lunch?_ And when he doesn’t get a reply within an hour, he texts Sam.

_Have you heard from your brother today?_

_Yeah. I’m at his house. He’s having a bad day._

**__** _Can I help?_

_Honestly, probably._   
_But he won’t let you._   
_He’s just feeling everything really intensely._   
_It happens sometimes, but it sucks. It makes him sick, gives him a bad headache. He barely tolerates me being here, but I feel like I have to keep an eye on him._

Castiel’s heart lurches more with every message. Dean’s having a hypersensitive episode. And Cas is feeling the echoes of it. It’s why he feels so jittery. 

_Shit,_ Cas thinks to himself, _this wasn’t supposed to happen._ This kind of immature bond, echoes of each others’ intense feelings, it wasn't supposed to happen without a conscious effort by both parties. Of course, Cas’s research occasionally mentions that it happens with extremely compatible pairs, but the research on it is so limited, because those pairs typically Bond quickly.

It figures that Castiel would be compatible with the stubbornest Sentinel on the planet. 

What he has read theorizes that this type of bond may be as easy to break as it is to form, but it’s an unknown. Cas knows that Dean doesn’t want to Bond, but given who he is, and what he is, he can’t help but being privy to something Dean might not even know about himself.

Dean wants a Bond. He wants it badly, but he doesn’t think he can have it. Cas should stay away until Dean can come to his own realizations with no influence from Cas, but he’s finding the very idea of staying away from his Sentinel turns his stomach.

Castiel has never thought of himself as a particularly strong Guide. How could he be? He was raised in a household with what he now realizes was not good emotional health. He was taught that crying is for girls, and for the weak. He was taught to be stoic, to not show how he’s feeling, though he was feeling _so much_. It didn’t help that his oldest brother Michael embraced the lifestyle of their parents entirely, but it did help that Anna and Gabriel, twins and opposites in every way, did not. They helped by giving him a safe place to feel all the things that he was feeling. Anna was as calm as Gabriel was a diversion. He got overwhelmed easily in those days, and they were the ones that suggested he was old enough for the Sentinel-Guide Test.

When his mother had him tested, she dismissed his results entirely. Being a Guide, she said, was useless. Feelings were useless, and logic was far more important. Only Anna’s calm intervention convinced his mother to send him to the Institute for classes where he learned about the abilities of Sentinels and Guides, and Cas had been forever grateful.

He doesn’t look like other Guides, he knows. They tend to be outwardly emotional, a little touchy-feely. They make excellent counselors, social workers, and teachers, even those who become doctors tend towards general practice, especially with pediatrics. Not emergency medicine, and not surgery, as there is little personal connection to benefit those patients.

Castiel however, is a trauma surgeon. He doesn’t possess great people skills. His siblings tease him about being a robot. He’s entirely capable of staying calm and decisive in highly emotional situations. Where many Guides would excel with a Sentinel to focus on in those moments, Castiel is an expert on taking his own feelings away and assessing a situation with cold logic. it’s what makes him good in a courtroom, and why he’s often called to testify.

Though, he considers, his expert facade fails in the face of Dean Winchester.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Castiel turns back to his conversation with Sam. 

_How long do his hypers tend to last?_

_Could be all day. I’ll just wait it out._

That’s extremely unusual. Cas’s brow furrows, and he types quickly. There’s a fine line between friendly concern and overbearing, he knows, but he’s worried for Dean.

_Longer than an hour and he should call his specialist._

_He won’t. I don’t think he’s seen him in months._   
_I’ll let you know if it gets worse, but I better go. I think even the phone vibrating is bugging him, even though he’s up in his room and I’m downstairs. I’m turning on DND._

_My apologies. Please let me know if I can help._

Cas breathes deeply. A hypersensitive episode lasting so long is concerning, and he feels impotent. What use is he to his Sentinel if his Sentinel won’t let him come near? Then he kicks himself for his possessive thoughts.

But, Castiel realizes, he can use this bond for something, if it truly goes both ways. As unsettled as he feels, he can do some relaxation on his end. Maybe it will help. He changes into yoga shorts and begins going through the poses on the mat he leaves by his window after stretching his muscles into awareness. 

He breathes and begins a series of poses designed for relaxation. Wide-Legged Forward Bend. Lizard Pose. Sphinx. Supported Bridge. Forward Fold. Reclining Bound Angle. Legs Up the Wall. Corpse Pose. Rest. Repeat.


	5. Chapter 5

His sensory system seems to even out a little bit in the evening (an echo of the calm he can sometimes achieve through yoga, which is nice), and by the next day, it’s enough that Dean can actually be around people, but he’s still not feeling well. His stomach hurts all the time, and he can’t think about eating food. He does his best to drink quick protein shakes, but even those make him work hard to suppress his gag reflex. Coffee has never been an offensive flavor or smell to Dean before, and it’s only mildly offensive now, so he downs cups of it loaded up with cream and sugar.

The week passes unremarkably, with a single bright spot in a lunch with Cas, where Dean is able to order a stack of pancakes, though putting sticky, overly sweet syrup on them is not an option. Castiel looks as good as always, regardless of the ill-fitting trench coat he wears over his nice suits. When Dean asks him about it, he simply shrugs and says, “I like it.” He ignores the narrow-eyed look Cas gives him when he barely eats half of what he ordered, and Cas doesn’t say anything. It’s still the most he’s eaten in one sitting in days.

He follows his routine. He teaches, he researches. He meets with students during office hours. He goes to his yoga classes, he runs. Benny checks on his shins, and when Dean says they feel much better, Benny doesn’t tape them again but reminds Dean to make sure he’s taking rest days. 

On the following weekend, Dean wakes up to a text from Sam, who wants to come over and drop off some books that he had borrowed. He’s feeling more level and is grateful for it. He drags himself out of bed towards the coffee machine and waits for Sam to show up.

As usual, the key in the lock is Dean’s first warning. Dean can tell Sam is doing his best to walk quietly through the house to find Dean. It doesn’t take him long to follow the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Dean pours him a cup, sliding the cream and sugar over to him.

“Hey,” Dean gives one of his false grins. No way is he giving Sam any more ammunition this morning. Not after last weekend. Plus he’s too tired.

Sam gives him a cheeky smile, the little shit. “Morning sleepyhead.” He rolls his eyes. Sam’s probably been up for hours.

“I don’t know why you’re so awake,” grumbles Dean, “didn’t you go out last night?”

“Yeah, but Jess and I called it a night early. Cas missed you, by the way.”

Dean makes a noncommittal noise at that, bobs his head to the side as a kind of non-response. Cas has turned out to be a good guy, a good friend, but Dean still isn’t sure how comfortable he is with a friend who’s also a Guide. Who he definitely has a crush on.

The sound of his brother clearing his throat brings him back to the present.

“So, I brought your books back.”

“Thanks. You like ‘em?” 

“The angel one was a little meta for me, but I liked Bartimaeus. I want to read the next one.”

“Nerd.”

“They’re your books!”

“Yeah, but I’m awesome. It all balances out.”

Sam gives a small laugh. “Whatever you say. Um. So.”

“What?”

“Have you thought about what I said?”

Oh, he’s thought about it. It’s a load of shit. He plays dumb. “What did you say?”

“So that’s a no.”

“Guess so.” 

Dean’s going to make him say it.

Sam takes a deep breath, and Dean steels himself to hear the thing he’s almost definitely not going to like. “I want you to find a different doctor. Dr. Gelbman does the same prescribing routine as Alastair did, and he lost his license for it.”

“No, Sam, he lost his license for touching children.”

“More like torturing.”

“I don’t want to talk about that again.”

“I know. I’m just worried about Sensinull. Cas said—”

“You talked to Cas about me?”

“I didn’t say it was you!” Sam says with a defensive look in his eyes, "And this was before I knew he was a Guide. He didn’t even know you. I tried to make it seem like I was asking about a case.”

“So basically he knows I take Sensinull.”

“I mean, probably.”

“Ugh. Sam…” And now Cas knows for sure how useless Dean is. No way he wants to be anywhere near him now.

“I do feel kind of bad about that. But he said it’s a really strong drug, and it has some way-scary side effects that almost killed people in the trials.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t had any of those, so it’s all good.”

Sam puts his cup down firmly, not quite slamming it, but it does spill a bit of coffee. Dean tracks it with his eyes, staring at the spill. “Dean, will you listen to me?” He jerks his gaze away from the splatter of coffee and refocuses on his brother. “You need to try something different! It’s obviously not working, you’ve been a wreck for a while now. I thought it was supposed to even it all out, but you’re either being bombarded with everything or you can’t feel anything! That’s no way to live!”

“And what’s this ‘different’ treatment? This is nothing different. This is it. It’s Sensinull or insanity.” Sensinull or Dean is lost to his zones and ends up in a Z-Ward at some hospital, where the legal battles rage on and on about how long a zone needs to last before a person is proclaimed a vegetable.

“You could find a Guide.”

“I tried that, remember? They don’t want me.”

“Cas does.”

“Cas doesn’t know what he’s asking for,” he can’t be what Cas needs, he’d ruin him.

“He’s a pretty smart guy, I think he can figure it out for himself. Can’t you give him a chance?”

“No, Sam. I can’t. I can’t go through that again. It’ll get better soon. It always does. Just takes time, and meanwhile, I’ll just keep on—”

“Keep on hurting yourself to muscle through it.”

“It’s—”

“If you say ‘it’s fine’ I’m going to kick your ass. It’s _not fine_. It’s _not fine_ that you’re starting to look like a heroin addict, and it’s _not fine_ that you’re still using the techniques that fucking psychopath—”

“Enough!” 

Dean doesn’t want to hear any more. Sam doesn’t know. Sam can’t understand from the outside, but Dean _needs_ to do those things. They work. They help. They let him live his life. They’ve had this discussion countless times, Sam always showing up with the latest and greatest therapies to help hypersensitive Sentinels, and Dean rejecting them. There are no guarantees those will work, and Dean can’t change what he’s been doing for over ten years. Not now, when he can’t afford for things to go wrong. His dissertation (and his wallet) can’t afford a hiatus while he tries a new technique that may or may not work. No.

“I’m not talking about this anymore, do you understand? I don’t need to try anything new, I need to do better with what I have. You think you know everything just because you’ve done research? Great. I actually live with this fucking thing, and I would tear it out of me in a second if I could, but I can’t. I keep going with what I have. I get to pick this, Sam. It’s my life.”

“It affects more than just you! You’re just being selfish!” Dean feels sucker punched. Sam’s eyes widen in shock at his own words. “I didn’t mean —”

He knows he’s a selfish bastard, but Sam throwing it in his face for this, of all things, is too much. 

“Get out.”

“What? Dean, come on.”

“Get out. Of my house.”

“Fine.” Sam slams out of the house.

Shit. Dean collapses onto the couch with an angry _whuff_ sound, running his hands down his face. He needs to shave, but the thought of it makes him feel heavier. For some reason, Sam can’t understand. He can’t see that Dean doesn’t get the nice things. Sam still thinks Dean has a future.

The only future Dean sees is one where he ends in a zone or blowing his brains out. Another fifty or so years of this makes Dean want to give the fuck up right now. Yeah, he’s got his dissertation to focus on right now, but after that? What’s next? He needs a project. Those four years between his master’s degree and beginning his doctorate were filled with bad decisions and worse relationships.

Is Sam right, though? Dean feels a tendril of guilt take root. Is he putting his friends through hell? He knows Sam worries, and Charlie worries about everything. He knows he’s looking a little rough, but it can't be that bad, right? If he can’t pull his shit together — _Dammit, boy, get up off the floor and get it together. Fucking Christ, no one is going to be able to take you seriously if you can’t control yourself_ — he’s going to have to fake it. 

It’s going to be exhausting.

At least Dean can count on meals with Cas. The only time he feels even moderately better is when he’s near him, which is some bullshit all its own, but Dean’s going to have to take advantage of what he’s got. He just needs to remember not to touch, so he doesn’t take advantage of Cas. It’s not fair to Cas to ruin him for another Sentinel like that.

He feels jittery, and he’s got too much energy, so he quickly changes his clothes and goes for a run. A quick ten miles should calm him down. Probably. 

***

Castiel startles from where he’s researching Sentinel-Guide premature bonds, looking for a case study, a blog post, anything that sounds similar to what’s going on between him and Dean, when Sam Winchester’s enormous frame bursts into his office with barely a knock.

“Sam?”

“Dean is being a fucking moron,” Sam fumes, “it’s like he doesn’t give a shit what happens to everyone else, how everyone else feels watching him go through all this shit, and he _refuses_ to talk about it! And now he’s mad at me! I just want what’s best, and he acts like a child, I swear.” He collapses onto the small futon Cas keeps in his office because napping on that is so much better than the on-call room, and crosses his arms defiantly, glaring at the back of the door to Castiel’s office.

“Um. Can I help you?”

“Dean and I had a fight.”

“I’ve gathered that. What happened?”

“We argued about this medication that he’s taking—“

“Sam,” Castiel interrupts, his own beliefs and training in taking patient privacy very seriously kicking in, “unless Dean specifically tells me, I don’t feel comfortable with you sharing his private information.”

Sam seems to deflate some at that, hopefully recognizing the possible breach of confidentiality. His own profession relies strongly on privacy, after all. Castiel knows Sam would never purposefully divulge private information, so whatever has him so worked up must be important to him. But he continues doggedly anyway.

“You basically know anyway. I asked you about it the same day you met Dean.”

Castiel’s stomach clenches with worry for Dean. He had an inkling after meeting Dean that Sam’s interest in Sensinull wasn’t purely professional, but until now he more or less has plausible deniability. Dean likely does not share that information with most people and definitely wouldn’t share it with Cas, since he works hard to be independent. Castiel gets the idea that to Dean, relying on a Guide takes away from his independence, and Cas is still working on getting Dean to change his perspective.

“I don’t think we should talk about it, regardless. It’s inappropriate to discuss without him. And besides, he’s an adult who can make his own choices. It’s his life and his body.”

“But what if it’s doing damage and we don’t know about it? Have you sensed anything from him? You know, with your—” and here he waves his hand in the air, a noncommittal motion he’s seen Dean do countless times “—thing?”

“I will not talk about what I have or haven’t sensed from your brother. And I can’t believe you would ask me to,” he responds, firm, leveling a narrow-eyed stare at Sam, broadcasting that he’s crossed a line.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Sam says, leaning forward, rubbing his face with his hand, “I’m just… worried. He always says everything is _fine_ , and I hate that word at this point. You know how he had an extra-strong day yesterday? The day before he could barely talk. Told me he thought it was floating away because he couldn’t feel anything.” The pinched look on Sam’s face tells Castiel exactly how worried he is. “You don’t have to say anything, I know you shouldn’t, I just. I’m—“ Sam sighs, evidently at a loss for words.

“Sam. I haven’t known Dean for very long, but I think more than anything you probably hurt his feelings. You called him ‘selfish’?”

“Yeah, I did. That was awful of me; I need to apologize to him. He’s not selfish, I know. He’s got a lot of shit he’s dealing with,” Sam glances back at Cas, “but I know if he found a Guide it would help. I just don’t get why he refuses.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say. He knows a small amount of why Dean refuses; it’s clear to Castiel that Dean doesn’t feel as though he’s worthy of a Guide. He’s told Cas he thinks he’s not a good Sentinel, and Cas is still concerned about that. What is a “good Sentinel,” to Dean? But it’s not as though he can share that with Dean’s brother. Dean likely isn’t aware Cas knows that.

Sam and Castiel sit in silence for a minute or two, and then Sam checks his watch, which has lit up with a notification. “Damn, I meant to come take you out to lunch, feel like I haven’t seen you in a few days. But I really need to head back. I left Hannah with a stack of research and now I feel bad she’s working on it alone. I probably wasn’t doing my fair share before I left, anyway—“

“Worrying?”

“You know it.” Sam sighs and waves as he leaves the office, closing the door behind himself.

With Sam gone, Castiel lets the worry that was clouding his mind show on his face. Dean’s taking Sensinull. And while Castiel will advocate for it in the right circumstances, the symptoms Sam alluded to and the observations he’s made for himself of Dean in the time they’ve known each other, have him worried.

Cas has heard Dean’s friends repeatedly tell him to take care of himself, which they don’t do nearly as much with each other. It suggests that Dean has a history of neglecting himself, and Cas already knows that Dean prioritizes others over himself. While that can be admirable, it’s worrying when at the cost of his own health.

Castiel checks his text history with Sam, confirming that Dean hasn’t seen his specialist in months. He wonders how Dean gets his prescriptions refilled. Sensinull is a highly controlled medication, prescribers are encouraged to only give a month’s supply at a time, with a checkup every four to six weeks, including monthly blood work. If Dean isn’t seeing his prescriber regularly, Castiel doubts he’s getting blood work done.

And Dean has been looking poorly, lately. He’s still frustratingly handsome, but Cas can see the change in the last several weeks: Dean has barely eaten his meals when they meet for lunch and usually brushes off Castiel’s attempts at finding out if he’s eating enough at home. The dark circles below his eyes would indicate that he’s not getting much rest, but that could be the stress of his doctorate, Cas supposes. 

There are other possibilities, of course, but Castiel’s gut is telling him that if Dean is indeed taking Sensinull the way Sam says, it’s not being prescribed responsibly. Castiel’s fingers itch to see if Dean has medical records on file with the hospital, but he stops himself. He could lose his own license for that sort of privacy violation, or at the very least be slapped with a fine and probably lose his job. Not to mention Dean’s friendship.

Cas struggles with his role in all of this. If he and Dean Bonded, he could stop the medication because having Castiel nearby would mitigate the extra input. 

His phone vibrates with a text. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

**__** _Hey. What are you doing tonight?_

_I finish work at 3._

_Too tired for a movie night?_

Castiel loves movie nights with Dean. Charlie usually comes, and Benny, who doesn’t seem to trust Castiel yet, always keeping an eye on him without ever saying anything. Sam and Jess come on occasion. It’s a time when Cas can let go of the control he keeps over his empathy, and let the emotions of the movie and the people in the room take over. Especially for a comedy, or one of the classic sci-fi movies Dean likes, many of them Castiel as never seen. He and Charlie were appalled when he revealed his “lack of education,” as they termed it. Castiel had argued that he was actually highly educated, and Charlie simply responded, “not where it matters, you’re not.”

_Never too tired for that. Where?_

_Thought we could come to yours?_   
_You said you have that big projector your brother put in your basement, it would be awesome for_ Star Wars _._

_I thought we already watched_ Star Wars _._

_Oh, Cas. We watched Episode IV._

Castiel does not remember episodes one through three.

_… episode? Why did we start at IV?_

_You have much to learn, young Padawan._

_What?_

_7:00!_

***

Sam makes his way back to work, and while he travels, he worries. He remembers what it was like, growing up with his dad “helping” Dean with his zones. He still remembers the day he walked in on Dean using a candle to burn his wrist. He pulled his brother away from the flame faster than he’d ever moved in his life, considering that, at the time, Dean was a good head taller than him. That was the first time he realized that Dean wasn’t just allowing his dad to hurt him, he was actively hurting himself. 

It still gives him a jolt of anger towards John Winchester when he sees Dean with new bandages, fresh wounds that he knows are self-inflicted but can’t prove, and when he asks, Dean usually replies, “Accidentally grabbed a hot pan, dude,” and then their friends tease him about being clumsy.

Dean’s the least clumsy person he knows. At least when he’s not taking sedatives.

He really needs to apologize to his brother for calling him selfish, though. That was unfair, and Cas was right, but Sam is almost positive that Cas knows more than he’s letting on. He just doesn’t understand why Dean won’t take a Guide. Everything Sam’s read has told him it’s in both of their interests, so what is wrong with his brother? Stubborn ass.

He worries about the guy, though. And what Cas said about it being Dean’s choice, he gets that, he really does, but doesn’t Dean get that it’s hurting him too? Maybe not physically, but watching him go through this, especially knowing that Dean has decided he’s going to end up alone. Dean’s told him he’s fine with it, but Sam knows his brother. His brother doesn’t want to be alone. Dean can be a grumpy dude, but at the end of the day, he’s a people person. He likes taking care of others, and Sam would be grateful if there was someone in Dean’s life to take care of him for a change.

Their dad certainly never took care of him. Not the way a dad should. 

***

_“Dean Henry Winchester, you snap out of this right now!” Their dad bellows at his brother, and Sam winces from the other room. Dean’s in the kitchen making dinner, but Sam knows what his dad’s anger signifies: his brother is in a zone._

_Shit. Sam tries to watch out for that, tries to avoid putting Dean in this situation, but he can’t always help. Sometimes he can Dean get out of zones (he’s no Guide, but Sam has learned there are some techniques anyone can use to help a zoned Sentinel), but it’s always better if he can help him avoid the stimulation that caused the zone in the first place._

_Sam marks his place in his book, and with a feeling of dread, joins his dad and Dean in the kitchen. Dean is standing in front of the stove, an acrid smell of burnt Spaghetti-O’s wafting from the pot near the stove, moved off of the burner by their dad who towers over his fourteen-year-old brother. Dean is standing at the stove, a wooden spoon in his hand, staring off into space, a caricature of someone making lunch._

_“God damn it, Dean!” His dad slaps his brother in the face. Hard._

_“Dad!” Sam shouts and runs to Dean’s side, but his father keeps him away._

_“Sam, back off, your brother needs to come out of this shit. This is why we go see Alastair, kiddo.”_

_“Dad, please, don’t do that, he can’t help it!”_

_“No, Sam! He’s got to learn!”_

_His dad grabs Dean’s arm and forcefully pulls his brother farther into the apartment, practically throws him to the ground in the middle of the floor. Dean sprawls on his stomach, his arms and legs akimbo, insensate to what’s happening around him._

_“At least let me try—”_

_“Your brother has to learn there are consequences for not paying attention—_ "

“ _—he doesn’t do it on_ purpose _!”_

_“If you don’t like it you can go to your room, Sam.”_

_He watches, feeling helpless as his dad removes his belt and makes a loop to hold in his hand._

_Dean doesn’t react after one strike, or even three, but the fifth has him flinching, and the sixth makes him cry out. Sam watches in horror and attempts to stop his dad once he sees Dean react, but it only gets him shoved forcefully into the wall._

_Dean starts curling into himself, and Sam knows he’s out of it now, the zone is finished, but their dad still hits him, and Sam can’t make him stop._

_“You’re hurting him, he’s back! Dad, he’s back!”_

_“I’m following Alastair’s protocol, Sam, stay out of this!” He growls at Sam again and strikes Dean. Sam tries, he really does. He tries to get around his dad, to get to his brother, but he can’t, all he can do is watch and wait for it to be over._

_Finally, his dad stops, once Dean is fully curled on the floor with his arms covering his head, knees tucked under his body. Dad grunts, and on the way back into his room, he finally addresses Dean._

_“It’s for your own good, kid. We’ll talk to Alastair about it tomorrow.”_

_Once Dad is gone, Sam rushes to his brother’s side to find Dean drawing in heaving breaths that stutter in and out, like he’s trying to bring himself under control, but is clearly struggling._

_“Dean?”_

_“Go ‘way, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is muffled by the carpet and he almost sounds like he’s slurring his speech, the way Dad sounds after he’s had a few drinks at the bar._

_“I tried to stop him.”_

_“Don’t. Deserved it.”_

_Sam feels sick in his stomach. As smart as everyone says he is, how come he doesn’t understand this?_

_“You didn’t do anything wrong.”_

_“Didn’t control m’self,” Dean groans and tries to sit up, and when he turns his head Sam sees a bright red stripe that’s sure to turn angry purple across Dean’s cheekbone._

_“He hit you in the face!”_

_“No shit. Didn’ wake up fast enough.”_

_“You weren’t asleep!”_

_“Kinda was.” Dean’s wincing as he heaves himself off the ground, dragging himself into the bathroom._

_Sam gathers some sweatpants and a t-shirt for Dean to change into when he’s done; he knows Dean doesn’t have a change of clothes in there with him. All the while, he’s furious. How is this better than trying to manage the zones with simple techniques first? What if Dean could’ve come out of it naturally? When he hears the water turn on he gives his brother a minute to get in the shower, then sneaks in to leave the folded clothes on the toilet seat._

_When Sam opens the door, a little metal tin on the sink grabs his attention. It’s about the size of an Altoids tin, but he can’t see if it actually is because he's distracted by its contents._

_Why does Dean have a razor? And bandaids? Alcohol swabs? He leaves the clothes on the toilet and slips out of the room._

At the library the next day, Sam learns the items are common implements for self-harm “kits.” He goes through a phase where he steals the razor from the tin when he can find it, but it never seems to make a difference. Every time he checks, there’s a new one. Eventually, though the tin disappears from Dean’s hiding spots, and Sam hopes it’s a sign that this thing is over.

***

He knows now there was no way Dean had stopped back then. And the evidence suggests that Dean has continued.

Sam has no idea what to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot the Pitch Perfect reference.

Benny can’t make it tonight, something about Andrea telling him they needed a date night, and then they needed a babysitter for Elizabeth, and Sam and Jess volunteered. Dean’s still kind of pissed at Sam, anyway. So it’s just him, Charlie, and Cas.

Dean’s a little nervous. He’s been by Cas's house before, he’s picked the guy up on his way to work, dropped him off after a barbecue at Sam’s, but he’s never actually been inside, and he’s surprised at his own desire to see what’s inside Cas's house. The outside is always neat and tidy, the garden always perfectly weeded. This fact doesn’t surprise Dean. When Jess complained about weeding their own little flower garden, Cas told her, in great detail, how much he enjoys taking care of his own garden. He told them he enjoyed “feeding the bees,” whatever that meant.

(What it means, Dean learns later, is that though Cas's front yard and his small vegetable garden are maybe the most orderly ones he’s ever seen, there’s a strip of his lawn about six feet deep that stretches along the back fence that is largely left alone. It’s delineated by another strip of bare dirt with paving stones, and Cas says it’s planted with wildflowers and things native to the area that bees thrive on, and there’s a little thing that kind of looks like a birdhouse with holes in it that Cas calls a “bee apartment,” which should be less adorable than it is. Apparently, America’s obsession with suburban lawn care isn’t helping the bee population. Who knew?)

Cas makes him nervous in that other way, too. Because the aches and pains that he stopped paying attention to long ago ease up when he’s around the Guide. He barely even remembered the ache in his neck and shoulders, and his slightly soured stomach until they disappeared. And then reappeared when Cas left, which makes it so much harder to leave every time. It’s like a drug, Dean can’t get enough, even though he knows it’s going to bite him in the ass. 

Today’s a pretty decent day, all in all, which is why he suggested a movie tonight. He almost feels hungry for popcorn, and he slept okay the night before after a couple shots of whiskey. It’s about as normal as Dean gets. He’s even wearing regular jeans and his Zeppelin t-shirt, no special Sentinel fabrics today.

Cas must see Dean’s car pull in the drive because he opens the door while Dean steps onto the porch. Dean waves through the storm door, and Cas gestures him inside.

“Hey,” he greets, toeing off his shoes.

“You don’t have to—“

“Nah, it’s more comfortable. What smells good?” He already knows it’s brownies, baked a couple of hours ago, but he also knows it weirds people out when he automatically knows shit from smells that have long since faded to them. Cas just raises an eyebrow, and Dean has to laugh. Of course, Cas calls him on his feigned ignorance.

“Fine, you little shit, I already know it’s brownies. I thought you were a bad cook?”

Gabriel was here when I got home, though I have no idea when he got a key. I told him I was having you over for a movie tonight, and he was appalled by my lack of acceptable baked goods. He made them. I simply watched.”

“That makes more sense. He joining us?”

“No, he needed to go work at the restaurant. It’s a good thing, though, his manners are atrocious.”

Dean grins, “My manners are atrocious.”

“Yes, but you’re much more attractive than him, you can get away with it.”

Dean feels his cheeks warm up. He knows, objectively, that he’s not a bad looking guy, plenty of people have told him so, (and usually, once they hook up he never hears from them again, so clearly it’s just his looks) but hearing Cas call him attractive is unexpected. And also, Cas finds him attractive? The back of Cas's neck is pink when he turns away from Dean to fiddle with something on the countertop, and he lets the slightly awkward moment pass without comment.

The other thing Dean feels badly about here is that he’s basically using Cas. Almost everything he eats makes him feel nauseated and occasionally he feels bad enough that he’ll throw up, but around Cas, he can almost eat like a normal person. The feeling that he’s been using this friendship to make himself feel not-so-sick in the last several weeks when he’s so unbalanced, turns his stomach, but he’s gotta eat.

The other day in the common study area, Dean was attempting to choke down his protein bar and a bottle of water when a girl, clearly an undergrad, sat down next to him and stared at him for an uncomfortable amount of time. After a few moments, he realized this girl was a Guide, and she was feeling him resonate. It happens more often than Dean would care to admit, a Guide finds him and watches him. Sometimes he feels a little bit of resonation in his fingertips, but he never feels the full-body hum that he gets around Cas. Regardless, he had been able to eat half the bar and drink all of the water, so he’s going to call that a win. Even if walking away from the stunned girl had been slightly awkward.

Cas's house is nice, though. It’s comfortable-looking, with a wide couch in the living room, and what looks like a chair-and-a-half in the corner surrounded by bookshelves. Dean knows Cas doesn’t have a television, just a projector, so there’s no TV in the living room, just more books and a small desk with a laptop on it, a printer tucked away underneath it.

Comfortable as it looks, nothing really matches, and Cas tells him he got most everything second-hand during his residency. He hasn’t had the heart to replace it all because it’s so comfortable and because Gabriel may have bought him the projector, but he tells Dean he spent more than he should’ve on the couch downstairs.

“If you’ll carry the tray,” Cas leads him into the kitchen, “I’ll grab the blankets and show you where the projector is. The basement is furnished, but it gets cold.”

A familiar-sounding engine pulls into the driveway, and Dean says, “Charlie’s here.”

The doorbell rings a moment later, and the sound of the storm door opening reaches Dean’s ears. Cas looks a little surprised at Dean, but he shrugs. He’d know that little engine anywhere, he’s repaired Charlie’s lemon of a car often enough.

“Where are you guys?” Charlie’s voice sounds from the entry.

“In the kitchen,” Cas calls back, and Charlie’s cheerful face comes into view, and she’s carrying a bag of Twizzlers. God bless that girl, Dean thinks. She knows what candy doesn’t make him feel sick to just think about: Twizzlers are awesome, and Snickers can get fucked. Who needs that much shit in a candy bar, anyway?

The three of them carry all the stuff Cas set out ahead of time down to the basement, where Cas has a giant sectional that takes up half the space, and a projector screen that’s got to be six feet across. The projector itself is mounted on the ceiling, and Cas tells them there’s a speaker system Gabriel attached. Dean sees the tall speakers standing on either side of the screen. He imagines they get very loud, and the idea makes him wince. Cas notices, and tells him they won’t turn them all the way up.

“I don’t think the neighbors would appreciate the noise, for one.”

Dean can’t help the soft smile he has for the consideration Cas has for his neighbors, but Charlie announces loftily, “They should. _Star Wars_ is to be appreciated by all.”

Cas rolls his eyes and refocuses on Dean. “You were supposed to tell me why we started with episode four. I wasn’t aware it was a serial.”

Dean and Charlie stare at him. Eventually, she pipes up, “You didn’t know. You didn’t know _Star Wars_ isn’t just one movie? You thought it _ended_ with the escape of the villain?”

“They blew up the moon thing—“

“That’s not a moon! It’s right there in the script!”

“—and they got medals. It seemed like it wrapped up.”

“Oh, Cas. You have no idea. Buckle in. _The Empire Strikes Back_ is next.” 

When Cas confesses that he doesn’t really remember how his system works, Charlie rolls her eyes and gets to work. “I might have to leave a little early,” She tells them, as she pokes around to set up the projector.

“What? Why?” Dean can’t hang out with Castiel by himself. In his house, on this comfy couch that smells like him, clean and fresh and basically _perfect_. Not without a buffer, no sir. Cas glances at him, and Dean realizes he might be projecting some kind of alarm, so he breathes, trying to relax. It sort of works, but he'd really prefer if Charlie just stayed.

“Kevin is working alone on some website tonight that he’s _insisting_ he can do on his own, but it actually has some really complicated coding in it. Anyway, it has to be done tonight, I’m anticipating a frantic text that he’s never going to finish it in time and a little bit of, ‘Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobe, etc. etc.’ from him at some point.”

An hour into the movie, her phone buzzes. She doesn’t hear it, and it buzzes three more times before Dean nudges her with his foot.

“What?”

“Your phone.”

“Oh! Sorry, that’s probably my call. See you two dudes later, be good!” 

With Charlie gone, Dean feels tension in his own body, and he can barely pay attention to the movie because now he’s Aware Of Castiel. He was aware before, but now Cas is the only other living thing in this room, and every breath stirs the air and makes Dean hyper-aware that they’re only sitting a few inches from each other, even though there’s space for at least four other people on this couch.

He listens to Castiel take a deep breath, hold it in, and let it out, along with any tension that had been in his body, and after a moment Dean relaxes, too. They’re fine. Cas is good, Dean’s good. Dean’s actually eating popcorn, and it’s not making his stomach cramp up like the stupid oatmeal he had last night did. He settles back in, but he can’t not notice the feeling of Cas so near. He unconsciously leans a little bit closer to the comforting feeling Cas provides, but he won’t touch, instead focusing back on the movie.

Luke gets his hand cut off. Dean grins at the sound of Castiel’s gasp, and watches him out of the corner of his eye, because he knows what moment is coming next. When Vader reveals to Luke that _he_ is Luke’s father, Cas's eyes grow round, and he turns to face Dean when the movie is over.

“What!”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know that.”

“I told you I had never seen these before!”

“Dude, everyone knows that. It’s not a spoiler when the movie is over thirty years old. ‘Vader’ literally means ‘father’ in Dutch.”

“I speak Dutch.”

“I _know_. I thought you would’ve guessed it!”

“Still. He’s really? He’s Luke’s father?”

“Yeah. But I won’t spoil the rest of it, because apparently you’re the last unspoiled person to ever watch _Star Wars_ , and I refuse to ruin that.”

“When can we watch the next one?”

“Do you work tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Cas pouts, and it’s very cute. “But I don’t work until nine. I have hours until I need to actually sleep.”

“I think we should save it. Next time.”

"Do you need to go?”

He should. “Nah, I can stay for a bit,” he leans back onto the couch, pulling his legs up so he’s lying along the cushions with his knees slightly bent and his back to the corner of the sectional, facing Cas, who moves to the opposite side, back against the arm of the sofa, mirroring his position. Their feet would touch, Dean knows if they both straightened their legs.

They’re silent for a minute, watching each other.

“What made you want to be a doctor?” Dean asks, suddenly.

“At first, it was simply the career my parents chose for me. It was expected.”

“At first?”

“Yes. They thought I would go to medical school and meet a nice nurse, or something. Settle down with a nine to five medical practice in my hometown, attend church on Sundays. Missionary trips with my brother.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Sounds dull. Besides the fact that I’m rarely attracted to women, it wasn’t the kind of medicine I found myself interested in.”

“I’m a little surprised by that, too. A quiet guy like you, working in the emergency room. Seems a little hectic.”

“It is hectic. But I like it. My life outside of work is quiet, but I prefer the fast pace of my workday. Treating trauma the way I do, I feel like I’m able to make a difference, even just in a small corner of the world.”

“That’s—that’s really awesome, Cas.” Dean’s not really sure how to follow that up. God, Cas should be the Sentinel. At least he’s doing the right job for it. Dean’s doing something anyone with a modicum of ability in math could do.

“My turn,” Cas says. “Why aerospace engineering?”

“Oh, are we trading questions now?”

“Perhaps. I’ve never asked you why you picked your field, and I’m curious. It’s a very advanced field of study, and you’re going for the top degree.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s _not_ nothing. You’re very intelligent, Dean, you must know that.”

“I’m good at memorizing stuff. And I was always pretty good at math.”

“By that standard, I’m ‘pretty good’ at anatomy.”

Dean cracks a smile, those air quotes are ridiculous, but the man’s got a point. “Did I ever tell you that I hate flying?”

“No.” Cas says, “You chose aerospace because you hate flying?”

“Kinda. I was going to do mechanical, that’s what I did for my bachelors. But when I was out of undergrad, I had just left a job at an auto-parts manufacturer and moved out here by Bobby and was working in his buddy Caleb’s garage for cash while I looked for a new job. Anyway, Bobby convinced me to come to one of his lectures. He had this whole section talking about the physics of flying, and space flight, and the types of engines they’d used in the past for space travel versus what they’re using now, and the possibilities for the future, and I was hooked. I still hate flying, but the mechanics of it… man, it’s like magic.”

“Science as magic. I can see it.”

“I had to spend so many hours in the wind-tunnel for my masters, and some more last semester, though. A nightmare, but I got through it.”

“I admire you for doing something you’re afraid of.”

“Who said I was afraid?”

Cas just gives him a look. Dean grins and tells him to shut up.

“Does that mean it’s my turn to ask a question?” Dean kicks out his leg to nudge Cas's and stubbornly avoids thinking about the frisson of energy that tingles the back of his neck when they make contact.

“If you’d like.”

“You’re gay?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No, I was just wondering. You said you were ‘rarely’ attracted to women.”

Cas considers. “It’s possible that pansexual is the most accurate label, though I tend to find men attractive most often, I have slept with a woman once or twice. I am more or less indifferent to gender or sexual orientation.”

Dean nods, understanding. He typically is the reverse, finds women more attractive, but he’s definitely bisexual. Sex is sex, as far as he’s concerned. He’s had some really great sex and some really bad sex, and woman or man, it didn’t make a difference.

“My turn?”

“Sure.”

“How do you know Bobby? Sam said he was like an uncle, but not related by blood.”

“Man, I forgot you haven’t met him yet. We need to fix that. Bobby and my dad met back when I was like three, I guess. They both went to this veteran’s support group, and sort of ended up sitting together because neither of them wanted to be there. It just kind of stuck, and now he’s family. His wife died right before Sam was born, and he never got remarried, never had kids. We were kind of like his kids. Even after we moved away, we’d spend some of the summer with him. And we moved back when I was a teenager.” He doesn’t bring up his dad, the way they grew up. Cas already knows some of it, anyway. He takes a drink of his water. “My turn.”

Cas nods his consent. Dean thinks about his question. “How come you haven’t seen _Star Wars_?”

“That's what you want to know?”

“It’s what I asked.”

“We didn’t have a television in my house."

“Really?”

“We read books. We were rarely allowed to go to a movie theater, though Anna and Gabriel snuck out on occasion when they were older. It wasn’t a priority for me.”

“Your friends didn’t want to go?”

“I didn’t have many friends. Almost none, in fact.”

“Why? You’re awesome.”

Cas smiles a little. “Different reasons. Looking back, I suppose I was a bit strange. My mother had us wearing what the other kids might be their Sunday best to school every day. I was quieter than many of the other children, and Anna told me that for a while I cried all the time.”

“Because you’re a Guide?”

“Possibly, though it’s difficult to say. I didn’t find out about being a Guide until I was twelve, and then my mother and father sent me to take classes at the nearby institute.”

Dean never got to take classes about being a Sentinel. Almost everything he knows he’s learned by experiencing it, or he was taught by Alastair. 

“My family… they were difficult. I didn’t fit in with my brothers and my sister, and my parents were displeased by my results of the Sentinel-Guide test.”

“No way, they weren’t happy you were a Guide?”

“Not especially. They would’ve much preferred me to be a Sentinel. My mother once told my father that she thought I ‘came off the line with a crack in my chassis’ because I felt many things very strongly,” Castiel is calm as he says it, but Dean can see the tension in every line of his body that’s visible. He aches to stretch out and lean his foot against Cas again, to lend support. Instead, he pulls his knees closer, the earlier frisson a reminder that even by touching Cas, he might somehow taint him.

“Yeah, well. Being a Sentinel isn’t really a picnic, most of the time,” Dean says into the quiet of the room. He begins to gather the detritus of their movie night that’s spread across the coffee table. “Here, I’ll help you clean up. The least I could do, for letting us use your projector. It really is great, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean. And you’re welcome. Any time, really. Soon, I hope. I need to know what happens with the Empire and the Rebels.”

“You got it.”

They walk the garbage upstairs, and Dean feels like something’s shifted in their relationship. Cas's heartbeat is the clearest sound in the room, and Dean needs to get away before he does something stupid.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I’m going out of town for a few days, there’s a conference happening several hours away that I can’t commute to. Would you mind stopping by the house to water the plants on occasion? If there’s any mail, you could pick it up?”

“Not a problem. When do you go?”

“I leave this coming Sunday, and I’ll be back sometime Thursday evening.”

“Sounds do-able,” Dean answers, all casual. Almost an entire week without Cas sounds awful.

“I would appreciate it.”

***

The next few days before Castiel leaves for his conference are spent texting with Dean, if they aren’t together. They text questions back and forth. Some are silly, some are more serious. 

_What’s your favorite pizza topping?_ Dean texts, one day. 

_Tomatoes,_ Castiel responds. 

Dean sends back an emoji that looks horrified and says _awful choice, man. You know pizza sauce already has tomatoes, right?_

Cas sends back _Ah, but what if it’s a white pizza?_

Dean simply answers: _blocked_.

Castiel smiles the rest of the day.

Sometimes a question leads to more questions. 

_When did you last sing to yourself? Or someone else?_ Castiel sends one day.

_To myself? The shower, last night. To someone else?_ A series of dots appear, indicating that Dean is typing. They disappear and reappear a few times, and then they’re there for a long time. The message Castiel gets back is lengthy.

_I used to sing to Sam when he was a baby. Dad was gone a lot, and mom had died, and there was no one else. And for a while when Sam was four, all he wanted to hear was ‘mommy’s song’, which was_ Hey, Jude _, by the Beatles. Mom used to sing it to us at night, I think it was her favorite. But he wouldn’t listen to the tape, no way. He wanted me to sing it. So I think I sang that damn song about a million times. That might’ve been the last time._

Castiel’s heart wrenches. He knew their mother died when they were young, but he didn’t know that Dean had such strong memories of her. He should’ve though. Most Sentinels tend to have vivid memories, especially when tied with a sense. A song would certainly stick with Dean.

Dean hasn’t talked much about his mother and father. Sam told him once that he has no memories of their mother, but that it was difficult for both of them, growing up in their father’s house. He knows their father died a few years ago, but doesn’t even think he knows his name.

After that, their texting becomes a game. What’s the simplest question Castiel can ask that reveals a long response? What’s the shortest response he can give Dean, simply to get one of those frustrated emojis Dean sends to prompt him to write more? What’s the silliest question either of them can think of? (So far, Cas thinks the winner is, “What color is the person’s hair who is closest to you,” simply because it’s ridiculous and doesn’t serve a purpose. Dean thinks the silliest question has been, “Do you put cereal in the bowl first, or milk?”, which he says tells you a lot about a person.)

They play this game often, but it also happens over the phone, and one night, in Dean’s bed. It’s a little strange to lie in your bed with your strictly platonic friend, but when said friend is getting a headache from the bright colors and lights of a police car and an ambulance driving past his house, you go to the most calming place available.

Cas leaves for his conference as promised on Sunday. The little updates he gets from Dean (“hey, Charlotte told me you’ve never given fertilizer to her and the boys, what’s that about?” “Your senses might be strong, but I know you can’t hear plants’ thoughts, Dean. Also, did you name my plants?”) make the whole thing go by faster.

Cas steps through the door and is almost immediately assaulted by a hug, Dean inhaling deeply with his nose buried in Cas's neck. It’s the first time Dean has ever hugged Castiel or touched him with more than a fleeting shoulder bump or high-five, and Castiel is tired, but he also feels invigorated by Dean’s closeness. And then he begins to feel what Dean’s feeling. Their usual defenses are somewhat lowered, and Castiel _feels_.

Dean’s tired. And hungry, so hungry, but also in pain, and he’s unsure if food would make it better or worse. His head aches, but it’s getting better. He’s felt so cold but is finally feeling warm, and _whole_ , and then he gasps because Dean does because Dean becomes suddenly ashamed. All at once, he lets go of Castiel, backing away, radiating embarrassment, and Cas gets his first good look at Dean since he left.

“Cas! I’m sorry! I don’t know what I was thinking, I shouldn’t have done that—“

“It’s okay that you hugged me, I was simply surprised. Are you okay, Dean?”

“I’m fine.”

He doesn’t seem fine. His cheekbones are more pronounced than ever. His lips look chapped, his eyes are fever-bright with dark smudges beneath them, patches of color now high on his cheeks. Dean hadn’t felt warm, but it’s possible his fever was masked by his clothing.

“Dean, you look like you’re sick, you didn’t need to stay.”

“I’m not sick, I promise. I just haven’t felt great, so I haven’t really eaten much, and I realized I was really dehydrated, so I’ve been trying to drink water, but then I was also having a hard time sleeping, and I barely got any work done on my thesis. Tried to go to yoga, but Benny sent me home.”

Dean does yoga? Cas doesn’t know where to start, so he says, “It smells like you cooked.”

“Yeah, made chicken noodle soup. It should be perfect, you got home just in time. Come have some.”

Dean serves them both bowls of soup with a hearty broth, noodles thick, practically dumplings, chunks of chicken Dean says he roasted the day before, celery, carrots, onions. It smells amazing and tastes even better. Castiel digs into his bowl immediately but notices Dean hesitate.

“You aren’t going to eat?”

“No, I am, I am. I just—I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad to be back.”

Dinner is quiet, but Dean eats two bowls of soup and a piece of bread, which might be the most Castiel has seen him eat in weeks. He watches Dean pack up the leftovers for Cas's fridge, and then make his excuses to leave. Before Cas has even thought of a response, Dean is pulling out of the driveway. 

How odd.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean knows he’s not looking well. The four days Cas had been gone didn’t do him any favors, either. The nausea was constant, as was the headache. He couldn’t concentrate, and the thought of eating made him imagine throwing it all back up again, so he just avoided it, instead eating tiny amounts of things, but he figured it was better than nothing. It stopped him from outright passing out, and then once Cas got back, he knew he could have a good meal. Not even the twice-daily running had tricked his stomach into letting him eat the past few days, and his legs were killing him. Benny had sent him home from yoga twice and told the other instructors to call him if Dean showed up, the interfering bastard. Probably didn’t help that he hadn’t bothered to shave since Cas left.

He hadn’t counted on the weird hug thing that happened when Cas walked in the door, and what the hell was that, anyway? Dean never hugged Cas before, and Dean made it so weird, even though it felt amazing. He can’t let that happen again, he really needs to stop taking advantage of the Guide, but it’s difficult to stop when it feels so good.

The glances he’d gotten from his friends confirm what he’d been seeing in the mirror wasn’t just a trick of the light, and he knows he should do something, but has no idea what it is, so he just continues, business as usual. No one’s caught him out yet, running at two in the morning until he collapses back into his bed, or staying up and studying and getting his thesis work done, because he wants to graduate on time, dammit.

In fact, if he dedicated this much time to it when he didn’t feel like hot roadkill, he thinks he’d probably already be done.

He’s on his way to a meeting with Bobby. They meet periodically in an official capacity, even though Dean sees him pretty regularly outside of school. They have to have a certain amount of hours down on paper as official time working on Dean’s thesis.

Dean drags his leaden feet across the building to the stairs. He stares up at them, and while ordinarily, he would have no trouble walking up to the fourth floor, there’s no way it’s happening today. Elevator it is.

When he knocks on Bobby’s door and opens it to the gruff, “Yeah, yeah, come on,” the look he receives from his mentor and uncle is startled.

“What in the hell happened to you?” Bobby demands. Dean doesn’t know why he’s so surprised, he saw him last week. He doesn’t look _that_ different, does he?

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well, I am. I even got a bunch of work done; let’s talk about it.”

“Not until you tell me what in the hell’s going on.”

“Bobby—“

“Don’t you ‘Bobby’ me. You look like a stiff wind would blow you over. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Last night. I had chicken soup.” And he vomited most of it up three blocks from his house at a stop sign, but Bobby doesn’t need to know that.

Bobby looks skeptical and insists on making him drink a bottle of water while they sit there and talk. Dean grumbles. Usually, Bobby would offer him some of the whiskey he keeps in his bottom drawer.

“Tell me about your thesis, then.”

Dean jumps into it, false energy from the coffee loaded up with sugar he drank on the way to the appointment beginning to hit him. Bobby’s look of concern over Dean’s well-being doesn’t go away, but it does fade into the background as they begin to discuss Dean’s paper. He reviews Dean’s bibliography and admits that Dean is actually a bit farther ahead than he thought he’d be at this point, and to keep it up; he’s on track to be finished next spring, and then they can talk postdoc and employment.

Dean never really thought he’d get this far.

They also talk about Dean’s observation Bobby did from a class he sat in on last week, and they go over his evaluations from his students, and their scores, checking to see that his class is progressing the way they should (after all, this reflects on Bobby, too, since Dean’s his student they’re all technically Bobby’s, too). Bobby notes that he had looked tired during his class, but overall he’s on track.

Their conversation comes to a close, but Bobby doesn’t dismiss Dean. He watches Dean expectantly. He doesn’t know how Bobby knows he’s been keeping something from him, but he does, the sneaky old man.

“Hey, did I tell you about Cas?”

“No. Your brother did.”

“Oh?”

“Yep.”

Fine Dean will ask. He’s an adult, he can ask these things. “What did Sam say?”

“Oh, just that they’re friends. He’s a doctor. Helps him on cases with medical shit. That you two met a few weeks back.”

“Right.”

“And he’s a Guide.”

“Uh, yeah. That.”

“Sounds like you’re compatible, too.”

Dean externally shrugs it off, though his insides clench. “Sam gets ideas, you know that. You know I don’t want another Guide, not after Amara and Lisa.”

“Seems like it might be a little different with this guy. You like him.”

Dean gives him a flat look. “It’s not. And duh, but I liked Amara and Lisa, too. But I don’t really wanna talk about that.”

“You brought it up.”

“I didn’t bring it up to talk about him being a Guide, I wasn’t even gonna mention that!”

“Then why’d you bring it up, idjit?”

Deal rolls his eyes. “Because you like knowing our friends. And I thought maybe you’d want to come over this weekend, hang out with me and Sam and Jess. Charlie and Cas are gonna be there, maybe Benny and Andrea’ll bring the kid.” Then he adds slyly, “You could bring Ellen.”

What’s visible of Bobby’s cheeks above his beard go a little pink, and Dean grins when Bobby scowls at him. “Invite Ellen yourself if you want her there.”

Dean smirks. “Fine, I will.”

“Fine by me. And yeah, I’ll come. You sure you’re up for it, though? Looks to me like you need a rest, not a party.”

“It’s not a party, Bobby. Weather’s supposed to be nice is all. I’m gonna grill, Sam and Jess are gonna bring sides. Cas said his brother might make a pie.”

Bobby agrees to come, and still grumbling about “Idjit kids tryin’ to butt into my life.” He tells Dean to have a burger and get some sleep. Dean salutes him sarcastically as he walks out the door, heading to his own office that he shares with two other Ph.D. candidates. Sure, he’ll get some sleep. He’s just got to wear himself out enough. Or maybe Benny needs a drinking buddy and he can just pass the fuck out tonight. Or maybe he needs some weed. It used to help calm his nerves back in undergrad; he doesn’t know why he shouldn’t try it again. And it’s practically legal now.

Dean zombies over to the ratty couch someone moved into the office years before it was partially his and collapses on it face-first in a heap. The couch smells funky, and if he doesn’t stop thinking about it he’s going to have a zone.

The door opens, and Dean didn’t even hear anyone coming because of the couch’s funk. He turns his head, and it’s Garth, who’s working towards his structural engineering Ph.D. and always smells like he’s coming from the dentist’s office, and it makes Dean sneeze, every time.

“Oh, hey, Dean.”

“Hey, Garth.” Garth pauses and frowns at Dean.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Taking a nap?”

“Knitting a sweater,” Dean responds flatly. He used up all his energy for his meeting with Bobby, and now he’s got to convince himself he has the energy to get home.

“…But I don’t see any yarn.”

“It was a joke, man.”

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Garth laughs like it was a hilarious joke, and Dean can’t help but smile a little while shaking his head. The guy is kind of an idiot (at least when it comes to jokes), but he’s an endearing idiot. He’s also pretty awesome at helping Dean with proofs. Man, fuck proofs.

And now Garth is wiping away tears from Dean’s joke. He’s so easy. “You staying in? I’ve got office hours starting in a few minutes, but obviously, you can stay. Just giving you a heads up.”

“Nah, I’ll head out. I just stopped in to rest for a minute after my meeting with Bobby.”

“How’d it go?”

“Fine. He says I’m ahead of schedule, so I guess I can afford to slack a little.” He stands up, and he must do it too fast because the room swoops a bit and Garth has to steady him. Garth’s hands on his shoulders make the fabric of his shirt rub against his skin, and it feels like sandpaper. Crap. Guess it’s time to head home and change. It was awfully optimistic of him thinking he could wear the regular denim shirt that Jess made him buy. She calls the material chambray, but it looks like denim to him. At least he can go home now. It’s Friday, so he gets to stew in his shit for an extra-long time. At least, once the get-together tomorrow is over. He’s still not sure how he got roped into being the host.

The ride home is an exercise in patience. He does his best to block the extraneous sights and sounds, and just be in the moment. It only takes a few minutes to get to his house, then he can let it all go.

Once he’s home, Dean sheds his clothes and climbs into his bed in just his underwear. His smooth sheets feel better against his skin, and his brain can stop telling him he’s going to rub all his skin off now. He focuses on the fan rotating a little too slow for his purposes, but he’s too tired to change it. He can finally think.

But thinking leads him back to Cas. The last few days were hell, with Cas gone. And when he got back, that familiar scent drew him right into a hug, and Dean can’t stop thinking about it. He just smelled so good, and Dean’s head had cleared, and he was so relieved the pressure band around his forehead was gone that he couldn’t stop himself. There had been another smell, too. Like a hotel, and people, and a little like perfume. And he’s smelled that perfume before, where—

Oh. Meg.

Meg, Cas’s friend, who teaches at the University. It’s her class that he often guest lectures in, and when he meets with Dean, it's usually before or after seeing Meg. 

Dean didn’t know Meg was going to be at the conference, too.

For some reason, the knowledge that Meg was there, that Meg and Cas were there, _together_ , makes him feel like a deflated balloon. He’s met Meg. She’s a raging bitch, mostly on purpose, but she cares about Cas, and because Cas cares about Dean, she’s willing to care about Dean. A little. Mostly for Cas. Cas says she’s not always like that, though. That she’s prickly, but he’s known her since med school, and they kept each other sane.

The fan spins along with his thoughts. He’s glad Cas has someone in his life like that, he is. But that doesn’t mean he can’t also be bitter. His Guide ( _he’s not your Guide, Dean, he’s never going to be your Guide, shut up shut up shut up)_ spent four days with someone else and probably didn’t even miss him at all, while Dean was at home, feeling fucking miserable.

Because he’s never going to have someone in his life like that. He’s going to be alone. He’s _supposed_ to be alone. Didn’t two Guides already dropping him without remorse prove it?

Dean’s starting to feel like he can’t catch his breath, and he belatedly realizes that he was so fucking focused on his _feelings_ and the fan was going so slow he must have over-concentrated on it because he’s about to zone. God fucking damn it all to hell, where the fuck is his kit?

He grabs for his nightstand, and bangs his hand on the corner reaching for the drawer, which hurts, but not enough, so he continues searching the drawer for the metal tin.

Methodically, but quickly because he needs to stop the zone from taking over, he takes out the little knife, sterilizes the blade, and brings it to his hip. Three slow cuts, two inches each, and the zone stops. His breathing evens out. His phone vibrates with a text from Cas.

_Are you okay?_

Dean thinks about it. Probably not. He sends Cas a thumbs-up emoji, then turns his phone on Do Not Disturb.

Sometimes, Dean thinks it would be easier for everyone if he wasn’t here. It’s not that he wants to kill himself, really. He just wants to stop existing for a while. Just the thought of it makes Dean yearn for the peace that must come with non-existence. And everyone could stop worrying about him and just move on. Just speeding up the inevitable, really. They’ll all leave eventually, anyway, and he’d just beat them to it.

He thinks about it sometimes, when he’s holding a blade to his skin. It would be so simple to just move his little knife to his wrists, or his neck, and with one or two swipes it could all be done. Or he could fall into a zone and just stay there, but putting that kind of burden on Sam… no.

He’s so tired, though.

He puts away his knife with shaking hands and cleans up.

***

Dean calls Charlie while she’s browsing at the grocery store.

“Come get high with me.”

“What?” She’s wandering the aisles, looking for some snacks. She’s thinking maybe it’s a raid night on Moondor, but it sounds like maybe Dean has made other plans. 

“I’m smoking weed in the backyard. It’s nice out. Come over. You could stay the night, you’re coming over tomorrow anyway.”

Oh, hell yeah. Some quality time with Dean, getting high? A sleepover? Like old times. She’s gonna buy snacks. “Shit, Winchester, let’s do this.”

When Charlie gets there, she lets herself in the back gate, bags in her arms.

“What’d you bring, Charles?” Dean’s voice drifts across the yard, obviously hearing the rustling of the bags.

“Well, Deanna, I brought snacks. You started without me?”

In the low glow of the lights strung up around Dean’s back patio, she sees that he’s already looking a bit hazy, and his lazy smile looks strange, but that might just be the light. He’s been at this for a while. “Duh. What’d you bring me?”

Charlie’s grin turns mischievous as she plops down on the reclined lounger next to Dean. “Can’t you tell? You can always tell.”

“I can. Don’t wanna. Wanna just be normal.”

There’s something in Dean’s voice, and in those words— _just be normal_ —oh, it’s one of those nights. Charlie’s face softens from her grin into something more gentle. She hates that Dean feels like this, and it’s not like there’s anything she can do but be here for him. Fortunately, she does that well. “I brought a variety. Some plain crackers in case you were feeling a plain flavor. Some Doritos in case you needed more. Twizzlers, water, soda, even flavored sparkling water. Figured I’d cover my bases.”

“You’re a good friend.”

Dean is too, though he’d never admit it. “I sure try. Gimme some of that.”

Dean passes the bowl and lighter over to Charlie, who breathes deeply and coughs a bit on her exhale.

“Amateur.”

“It’s been a minute since I smoked.”

Dean hums in agreement but otherwise doesn’t respond, staring up at the sky.

It’s not like him to stay quiet when he wants to hang out. “What’s up, Dean?”

“When are _you_ gonna leave, Charlie? Can you make sure you give me some notice, so I’m not caught off guard?”

Holy shit, where did that come from? “I’m never gonna leave you, bro. I’m like a barnacle, you’re stuck with me.”

Dean laughs out a breath, but it sounds a little choked, and a little like he doesn’t believe her, and Charlie knows it’s bad. Her best friend keeps it together when it’s tough and is one of the most reliable people she knows, but sometimes, he breaks. And she wishes he would talk to her before he breaks instead of calling her to smoke, all maudlin in the backyard. Dean makes her think of sandcastles, sometimes. He’s all fortified walls with a moat, sand mixed with just enough water so that the walls stay sturdy, built so tall and wide you could probably stand on them if you’re careful. If you’re not careful though, it crumbles. And sometimes a big wave comes and washes it all away, and you’ve got to be careful to rebuild the walls, or else the rest of the castle falls down, too. 

Right now Charlie’s just not sure if it’s a big wave moment or just some crumbly walls that need patching.

Nothing breaks Dean like someone he loves leaving him. She’s been his best friend since college, nearly ten years now, and she’s seen Dean tough it out through things that would’ve destroyed a lesser person. Every breakup, every lost friendship, wounds him. When his dad died, Charlie remembers he stopped speaking for days, and their relationship had been complicated at best.

She studies Dean in the low light. The shadows are making his cheeks look even more hollow than they did earlier in the week. She can’t tell in the moonlight, but she thinks the dark circles under his eyes are worse. Cas was gone this week, but he’s back, Charlie thinks. Isn’t he?

Cas is like cement for Dean’s crumbly walls, Charlie just knows it. She wishes those two would figure it out.

“D’you think Amara and Lisa left because they realized I was no good? Like, as a Sentinel. And, I mean, I guess as a person.”

Oh. Them. Dean’s past Guides that broke his heart. They both left, but for very different reasons, so Charlie’s not sure what he means when he says he’s no good. She knows Dean doesn’t think the world of himself, but surely he doesn’t really think he’s no good. That’s just wrong.

“Dean, what?”

“They both left after we got pretty close.”

“They left because they suck.”

“Charlie,” he whines, “m’serious.”

“I am, too. If they didn’t match up with you in the way you guys are supposed to, you know, resonate, or whatever, they should’ve called it right there.”

“I should’ve known.”

“How could you have known?”

“I’m hard to deal with.”

Dean’s still staring up at the sky, laying back in his lounge chair next to hers, almost pointedly not looking at Charlie. She turns to sit sideways on her own chair so that she’s facing Dean, even if he won’t look at her. She needs him to know that she’s serious.

“You’re a pain in my ass, but I love you and I’m never leaving.”

“Never say never. I just haven’t found the right way to drive you away yet. I’ll get there.” Dean’s voice is brittle, somehow.

“What happened? Is someone moving away?”

Dean continues to avoid her gaze, picking at one of the cuticles on his right hand. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Is this about Cas?” 

Dean doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes another hit from the bowl and holds the smoke in his lungs for a long time. He lets it out on a sob, a sound she has rarely heard from Dean.

“Dean—”

Dean’s voice is hoarse and his words a little slurry when he responds. “Can’t even keep a regular girlfriend around, how’m I s’posed to keep a Guide around? I’m not gonna be able to, and he’s gonna leave.”

Charlie knows Cas isn’t his Guide—officially, anyway—but these two boys have such heart eyes for each other. Charlie thinks it’s inevitable.

“Why do you think he’s gonna leave?”

“I told you. Lisa said I’m too much work. Amara found someone better. And no one else wants to stay with me. Aaron stopped calling after we slept together, and I didn’t even like it - do you know how hard it is to fuck when you get distracted by like, everything? And god, sometimes it fucking hurts, even if it’s not doing any damage. I was having an extra loud day, and It was awful. I tried the one-night stand thing, but it hurt too much after a while. It’s hard to pretend to be interested when all I want to do is get away as fast as possible.”

Honestly, Charlie hasn’t really thought about it. But yeah, if it hurts to be hugged sometimes, she can’t imagine what sex must be like. Especially on Dean’s hypersensitive days. She remembers when Dean was doing the one-night stand thing. His slutty days, she called them. She had no idea he was in pain, oh _god_.

“Aaron wouldn’t wait when you told him you were—” Charlie had thought Aaron was actually kind of an alright guy, she can’t believe he wouldn’t wait until Dean wasn’t in the middle of a hypersensitive episode.

“I never told him _—_ ” Of course he didn’t, Charlie shakes her head while Dean continues, “thought maybe it would be fine. It wasn’t. And then Lydia couldn’t stand all the changes she had to make.”

“You mean the shampoo and stuff?”

“Yeah, and the detergent and the lotions, and the perfumes, blah blah blah… And I just wasn’t good enough for Ketch.”

Lydia was a high-maintenance woman, and she refused to budge on her scented… well. Everything. She said it was her signature scent, some kind of shitty vanilla smell, and wasn’t willing to give it up to be with Dean, which told Charlie everything she needed to know about Lydia. 

And Ketch. Charlie didn’t like him from the beginning, especially when she heard him complain that Dean wouldn’t let Ketch touch him sometimes. Desperate not to be left again, Dean ended up going along with whatever Ketch wanted. One time after they broke up and he and Charlie were wasted, he told her everything: that it felt like he was on fire the whole time, and that he much preferred when Ketch fucked him on days when he couldn’t feel anything because he could just let Ketch do whatever he wanted and it didn’t hurt.

Charlie wanted to kill him, but Dean wouldn’t let her. She’s not sure he remembers telling her all that. 

“Dean, they were both terrible. Lydia was a self-obsessed, horrible person who wouldn’t give up a thing that was literally causing you massive migraines. And Ketch… Dean, I’m sorry, but he basically assaulted you for weeks. If not worse. Neither of them left you because of _you_.”

“But they did. Because I’m not normal, I’m all fucked up. Sammy says I’m being selfish.”

“Sam says what now?” Charlie might have to kick Sam’s ass. And that’ll be tough because Sam is like a redwood tree.

“He said I’m making everyone else worried, ‘cause I don’t wanna stop my meds and try some other kind of bullshit. He said sorry, but he’s probably right.” Sam better have actually apologized. Dean is far from flawless, but no one could ever say he was selfish.

“I _am_ worried about you,” Charlie admits, the confession feeling heavy in the air. She knows Dean is going to brush it off, but she has to try.

“See? Why, though? I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you seem fine. Not at all like you’re having some kind of nervous breakdown in your backyard.” Dean laughs, which would be nicer to hear if it didn’t sound like he was on the verge of tears. “And you’re the least selfish person I know. You should be more selfish.”

Dean passes her the bowl, and she takes another hit. She’s starting to feel loose, which is always nice. She misses hanging with Dean, he’s been so busy with school and getting to know Cas, that she’s barely seen him, but she won’t begrudge him that. They’re basically her ship at this point, and she will see it through. And clearly, Dean is going through some shit. She’s glad he called.

“Are you supposed to be doing this on that medication?” Charlie’s been with him since before he started taking Sensinull, helped him look up all the side effects and stuff. She hates that he has to rely on it to let him live his life. Dean deserves better.

Dean snorts again. “Who gives a shit? Like, literally, who cares? It’d probably be better for everyone—”

Dean’s words stop Charlie cold. “Dean Winchester, don’t you dare even think that. I care. You’re my best friend, and I don’t even know how I’d move on if something happened to you.”

“You’d be fine.” He flicks something off the arm of his chair.

She feels tears begin in the corners of her eyes, scared he’s trying to tell her he’s planning something, desperate to make him stop if he is. “Well, we’ll never have to find out, because it’s never going to happen. We’re sticking together on this, I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Calm down, Charlie, it’s not like I’m going to do it.”

It’s not the first time he’s talked about this. Always hypothetically, of course. It worries her a lot. “Sometimes I’m not sure. I just wanted to be clear.”

“S’clear.” Charlie wishes his voice didn’t sound so flat like he’s given in to the inevitable.

They sit in silence for a little while. Charlie feels rattled, and she needs something to do with her hands, so she grabs the snacks and asks Dean what he wants. He says it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t want any. Dean gives his blessing for her to eat Doritos in his presence, so she opens the bag and starts crunching absently. After a few minutes of silence punctuated only by the rustle of the bag and the crunch of the chips, Charlie hears Dean breathing, and he sounds like he’s trying not to dry heave, and he’s trying to do it all silently so Charlie doesn’t know, swallowing any sounds of discomfort.

Charlie wants to bash him on the head. She rolls the chip bag up tightly, tucks it away, and pointedly stands up.

“I’ll be right back, you self-sacrificing moron. I’m going to clean up.”

“Charlie, it was fine—“

“You mean you thought you could pretend it was fine, don’t lie to me. I’ll be right back.” She knows all his tells by this point. She goes inside to clean up, taking great care to use Dean’s unscented lava soap and to brush her teeth with an extra toothbrush and Dean’s toothpaste, and when she comes back out, Dean insists that he’s feeling better. Charlie decides to believe him and lays back down in her lounge chair.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, Charlie thinking about what she wants Dean to hear, and how she’s going to make sure that it gets through his thick skull.

“Here’s what I think: Cas would stay. He’s not like the others you were with. Lisa was the only one of them who wasn’t an asshole, and she just turned out to be a bad match. And yeah, she handled it kind of shitty, but also you guys were like twenty-three, give her a break. Cas is your match. He’s your match as a Guide, and he’s your match as a person. I’ve seen you together, you just fit. Give him a chance.”

Dean’s silent for a while, then admits, “We’ve been hanging out. But just as friends.”

“Friends is good. But you’ll want more soon.”

“I want more now,” he admits. Truth time, apparently. Pot makes Dean honest, and Charlie appreciates it. She only wishes he was more honest with her all the time. “I just don’t know if I can do it. What if he leaves? I don’t wanna go through that again. And it would be worse. I feel closer to Cas already than I ever did with the others.”

“I dunno, Dean. I think you just need to take that leap. When you’re ready.”

“Right. When I’m ready. What if he already has someone else?”

“Who else would he have?”

Dean’s quiet, but when he sighs and says, “Meg?” Charlie wants to smack some sense into him.

“Meg. You mean his best friend who’s currently fucking his other friend, Balthazar? That Meg?”

“Meg and Balthazar? Really?”

“Yeah, they’re kind of perfect.”

“Oh.”

“Now what’s your excuse?”

“No excuse. Just chickenshit, I guess.” He’s silent for a moment, then he clears his throat. “Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for staying.”

“Anytime, Winchester.”

In addition to the honesty, the pot helps Dean sleep, and Charlie thinks he almost looks like he got a good night’s rest in the morning. _Baby steps_ , she tells herself.


	8. Chapter 8

Bobby arrives at Dean’s house at the designated time but isn’t surprised to see the party already in full swing. No matter what Dean called it, this is definitely a party. You can’t get this group of idjits together without it becoming a party. _Just a few people, my ass._ He drops his six-pack off in the cooler pushed up against the house, nestling the beers into the ice so they stay nice and cold, and then grabs himself one from another cooler, where they’ve already had a chance to get frosty.

“Bobby Singer, as I live and breathe,” Ellen’s voice calls out behind him, and he blesses his beard and cap for covering up the pink stain that he knows is on his cheeks.

“Ellen,” his voice comes out gruff, and no matter what the Winchester boys say, it’s not on purpose. That’s just his voice, dammit.

“You met Dean’s new boy?”

“Who?”

“Don’t you see Dean near every day, old man? Cas!”

“Didn’t know he was Dean’s boy.”

“Then you’re blind.”

“I ain’t even seen the guy! Sam’s the one who even told me he existed. I didn’t know until Dean invited me to this shindig yesterday.”

“I’ll introduce you.”

Bobby walks half a step behind Ellen across Dean’s modest-sized yard and takes in the view. Dean’s got a couple of tables spread out waiting for the rest of the food to arrive or be set out, and he’s got two picnic tables set up for seating. Otherwise, people are scattered around in camping chairs. He’s got his firepit set up with some of those Adirondack chairs around it, and Bobby eyes the new setup. He had helped Dean out by getting him a deal on the gravel to build the firepit through one of his contacts in the landscaping crew up at the university, and he’s got to admit it looks pretty good. He knows Dean’s got plans to put some kind of pavilion toward the back with a pergola, and he makes a note to himself to talk to Dean about it.

He sees some familiar faces from the engineering department and even gets a couple, “Hi Dr. Singer,” greetings from some, but he doesn’t stop, nodding his greetings in return and following Ellen. They weave between a couple of bodies until they stop where Sam is talking to a man with dark hair.

“Look who I found,” Ellen announces, grinning. Damn that woman, she knows Bobby’s not one for hugs, and she knows Sam won’t take no for an answer.

“Bobby!” And yeah, Bobby’s subjected to a sasquatch-sized hug from Sam, who has to stoop his tall frame down to even reach Bobby. Damn it.

“Yeah, yeah, boy. Get off me.” He grumbles, but Sam gives him a grin, and motions to the man he had been talking to. 

“Bobby, this is Cas. Cas, Bobby.”

Bobby puts out his hand, and Cas gives it a firm shake, looking Bobby square in the eyes while he does with a slight smile.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Singer. I’ve heard a lot about you from Dean.”

“Thought you were Sam’s friend?”

Cas blushes and looks away, which makes Bobby raise an eyebrow and glance at Sam, and then Ellen. They both have smirks on their faces, though Sam is trying to hide his behind his cup, and clearly does not plan to come to Cas’s rescue. Bobby waits.

“We are. I mean. I am. I’m Sam’s friend, but also Dean’s. I met Sam first, at work.”

“You a lawyer?” Bobby already knows he’s not. He’s looked into this guy, Dr. Castiel Novak. A trauma surgeon at the university hospital, occasional guest lecturer at the school of medicine and the law school. And he’s a Guide. He certainly looks good on paper, Bobby will give him that.

“No, I’m a doctor. I consult on Sam’s cases when he needs it. He introduced Dean and me several weeks ago, and we’ve been ‘hanging out’.”

Jesus, air quotes. Though since Cas is holding a cup with one hand, the gesture is somewhat stilted.

“That so?”

The small challenge Bobby’s put into his voice seems to startle the other man, who looks over at Sam and Ellen for help. 

Sam chuckles. “Good luck, man,” and he puts his arm around Ellen’s shoulders to steer her away toward where Ellen’s daughter, Jo is standing with Charlie, the pair clearly feeling pretty good about themselves. But they know Bobby well and know he wants to size this Castiel guy up himself.

“So, Dr. Novak.” Blue eyes dart towards his face, narrowing suspiciously.

“I don’t believe I told you my last name.”

“Didn’t have to. You’re a Guide, huh?”

“Who told you that?”

“Sam told me about what happened when you and Dean met. Gotta say, Dean’s never had a reaction like that to a Guide before.”

Castiel’s face goes through some interesting motions, though Bobby’s got to hand it to him, it’s one hell of a poker face. There’s something Castiel is thinking but damned if he knows what it is. He waits for him to respond.

“We resonate… well. But it doesn’t matter, Dean doesn’t want to bond, and I respect his decision.”

Doesn’t seem like he agrees with the decision, though. “That’s good. Not everyone does.”

“What do you mean?”

“Boy’s been through some shit, is all I’m saying. I’ve known him for most of his life, and I ain’t exaggerating when I say he’s like a son to me.” Castiel nods, looking curious, so Bobby continues. “He’s a genius when it comes to machines, but he ain’t very good at looking out for his own interests.” He takes a drink from the beer bottle in his hand, “Takes a lot of hits that aren’t meant for him.”

Castiel nods looking a little wary. “I’ve noticed he puts himself down a lot. It’s more distressing than I thought it would be to hear someone you care about talk about themselves the way he does, sometimes.” Cas’s eyes drift across the backyard, where Bobby can see Dean passing the grill off to Sam, waving a finger in his face, probably threatening him with bodily harm if he lets the burgers overcook. Sam rolls his eyes at Dean and laughs, shoving his shoulder. A smile tugs at the corner of Bobby’s mouth when Dean walks backward away from Sam towards the coolers, obviously still making threatening statements while Sam waves the spatula in a motion that clearly says, “Go away now.” He turns back to Castiel, watching him watch Dean.

There’s definitely something there. And Dean was blushing when he talked about his friend Cas, too. He snorts. Idjits.

“Dean tell you I’m the one who convinced him to actually go to school in the first place? Kid didn’t think he had the smarts to get himself a degree and look at him now.” Bobby’s proud of the kid, he’s come a long way from the non-verbal four-year-old he was for months after his mom died.

“No, he didn’t. He doesn’t see a very accurate picture of himself.”

Castiel’s words throw Bobby back to a memory of Dean, staring down at a pack of applications Bobby had printed out for him.

_“Bobby, I’m never gonna be one of those guys with a fancy degree, that’s Sam’s thing, not mine.”_

_“Boy, you love solving problems more than anyone I know.”_

_“But—”_

_“You took apart my toaster and_ fixed it _when you were six years old.”_

_“Bobby—”_

_“Don’t start with me, kid. We got kids in our mechanical engineering program who couldn’t do that, not without instructions. You don’t go to college because you don’t wanna go, that’s fine. But you don’t go to college because you don’t think you’re smart enough? Bullshit.”_

_“Dad said—”_

_He knew what John said. For all that man said family was the most important thing, he sure spent a lot of time knocking his down. “I don’t give a shit what your dad said. I’ve seen your grades. I even saw those SAT scores you tried to hide. You wanna go to college?”_

_Dean looked terrified, but he gave the smallest nod Bobby had ever seen._

_“Sounds good to me. You want help with your applications?”_

_Dean picked up the pen on the table, then hesitated, watching Bobby’s face for a reaction. “Are you sure—”_

_“I’m sure, kid.”_

Bobby’s got half a lifetime of memories to prove it. That boy sees himself in some kind of funhouse mirror. 

“That’s for damn sure,” he says to Castiel taking another sip of his El Sol.

“What’s for damn sure?” Dean’s interjection doesn’t make Bobby jump, but it’s a close thing. 

Dean doesn’t look nearly as tired as he did when they met yesterday, but he can’t say much about the rest of it. His shirt, an old Blondie tee he’s seen Dean wear a thousand times, it’s a wonder that thing isn’t full of holes, hangs a little too loose on his shoulders, his cheekbones a little too sharp. But his eyes are bright and clear. And focused on Castiel.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas greets him, and the greeting makes a smile spread on Dean’s face wider than any Bobby’s seen in a long while now.

“So what are you two over here gossiping about?”

Cas blanches, obviously realizing that he can’t tell Dean they were talking about _him_ , but clearly, he hasn’t got a thought in his head besides that. Bobby rescues him. So sue him, he might actually like the guy.

“Some fool at the garage thought Caleb wouldn’t know what he was talkin’ about with an old Ford.”

Dean doesn’t believe a word of that, Bobby can tell, but it’s not like he’s going to come out and call Bobby a liar. Besides, Cas is nodding, and what’s he going to do, anyway, call _Cas_ a liar? Not likely.

He’s right. Dean lets it go, and starts asking Cas what he wants on his burger, then waxing poetic about the pie Cas’s brother apparently made, all the while standing closer to Cas than Bobby thinks Dean stands to anyone except Sam. Bobby watches closely, though, and they never touch.

Well, Bobby amends. Cas sometimes reaches towards Dean or attempts to lean into his side. Dean always moves away just in time. Always makes it look like a coincidence, but Bobby’s been around that kid way too long to not catch on when Dean’s avoiding something. And he’s avoiding Cas.

He watches the pair out of the corner of his eye while they put their burgers together, picking out side dishes. He watches them take seats next to each other—still never touching—at the picnic table. But the way Dean moves around Castiel, it’s more lazy smiles, head thrown back in a full-body laugh Bobby hasn’t seen in ages. And Castiel seems equally taken, nose scrunched and smile spread wide across his face, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

“You spyin’, Bobby?” Ellen again. Nosy woman.

“Just watching the scenery.”

“Just watching those two boys be stupid about each other, huh?”

“You noticed that, too?”

“I think they’re the only ones who haven’t.” 

The sun’s about gone down now, and Dean gets up, says something to Castiel that makes him nod and then smile, and heads towards the house. He’s going to have to walk past Bobby, and Bobby can’t resist giving Dean The Look. The Look is something he’s perfected over the years. It means something like, “Are you being an idiot,” while also meaning something like, “I love you, but you’re stupid,” and also, “you might be in trouble.”

Dean gives Bobby a frown in response, confused, but he doesn’t stop. He leans over by the side of the house and tinkers with something, and lights flicker on above their heads, strung across parts of the yard, along the fence, and against the house. Bobby rolls his eyes at the dramatics of it all but appreciates the extra light. They don’t look half bad, either.

Dean comes by again, but this time he stops where Bobby and Ellen are sitting at one of the tables near the house. Crosses his arms.

“You need something?” Ellen asks.

“You two ain’t got nothing better to do than whisper to each other all night?”

“Glass houses, son.” Bobby slings sarcasm with the best of ‘em.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You spent the last hour canoodling with Cas over there.”

Dean splutters, and Bobby hides his grin inside a frown. “There was no _canoodling_ , Bobby, what the hell?”

“Yeah. I noticed you don’t let him touch you.”

Dean’s face turns into stone, and Bobby knows that’s a sore spot for him but Dean’s hard-headed and isn’t going to listen unless he’s made to.

“Leave it alone.”

“Dean—”

“Please,” Dean’s face turns into something pathetic that Sam’s puppy-dog eyes couldn’t touch if they tried. It even tugs on Bobby’s heartstrings, “Can you just. Just leave it alone, okay?”

“We’ll talk later.”

Dean deflates a little, but he’s still stiff. “Yeah, okay Bobby.”

He doesn’t head back to the table to sit with Castiel, instead going over to where Benny and Andrea are sprawled on a blanket on the grass with their daughter, Elizabeth. She looks to be about four years old, and she smiles brightly at Dean and gives him a hug when he sits by her, gracelessly dropping into a crouch by her side that makes him lose his balance and fall. Boy must’ve had more to drink than he realized. Elizabeth is eagerly showing him something she’s got in her hand, Dean responding with appropriate enthusiasm. Bobby glances towards Castiel, where he’s engaged in conversation by Jess, but he can’t help but notice the man watching Dean with a slight moue. Bobby might even call it a pout if it didn’t also look so concerned.

“You put your foot in it, Bobby,” Ellen snickers a little into her cup while they relocate to the chairs by the fire, “Dean’s gonna be a peach about it now.”

“Ain’t he always?” He settles into the low chair and watches Dean loosen up a bit while he’s playing with the kid; as much as Dean’s always claimed he doesn’t know what to do with children, he’s a natural with them. He’ll be a great dad one day if he could just let himself open up a little. “El.”

“Yeah.” She rolls her head on the backrest of the chair to face him, waits for him to finish his thought, the humor fading at the look that must be on Bobby’s face. She knows him well enough to know he doesn’t start talking if he’s not going to finish.

“Dean’s looking…”

“Skinny,” she finished his sentence for him, “he barely touched his food tonight.”

“Except the pie.”

“Have you ever seen him turn down pie?”

Bobby hums, then adds, “You shoulda seen him in my office the other day. Looked like I coulda knocked him over with a whisper. Like he hadn’t slept in a while. Looks a little better today.”

“Must be having a hard time right now. Sam said he’s had a few off days.” There’s a long pause, and then she continues. “Not sure if there’s much we can do. It’s not like with—” she glances towards Dean, “—his last Guides. These two aren’t even together.”

“Ain’t they?” They seem like it. Practically attuned to where each other are in the backyard. Whenever Dean looks up, he unerringly finds Cas, likely at least one of his senses is already fixed to the guy. Could be his imagination.

“Nothing official, at least. But they're like this when they’re at the Roadhouse, too. Always near each other but never touching, and if they’re not close they’re watching for each other.”

“He said anything to you about any zones?”

“No, but you know he won’t unless I ask.”

That’s true enough. John taught those boys never to show any weakness, didn’t even want them admitting when they were sick. Bobby wishes he’d done something about it sooner, wishes he’d done more research on that fucking psychiatrist John took Dean to before it was too late. And Dean clams right up if you ask him about his doctor’s appointments.

God damn John Winchester. When Dean was eighteen he quit talking again, just like when his mom died. Dean had just stopped seeing that psychiatrist because the man skipped town, and when Bobby found out about the “treatment” Dean had been undergoing for the past few years, he was so angry he chased John off his property with a shotgun. He got a call from a hoarse Dean six months later, who apologized over and over again until Bobby finally got it out of him: John had left when Bobby chased him off, and Dean had been trying, but he couldn’t pay the rent and they were getting kicked out, and he knew Bobby hated him and John, but could he let Sam stay with him for a little while?

Bobby had picked them and their meager belongings up within the hour. Eighteen-year-old Dean had a dark bruise on his cheek and a black eye that he wouldn’t explain, and Sam was angry. He was always angry when he was fourteen. At John, at Dean for letting himself be hurt, at Bobby for not noticing sooner. Turned out the landlord had come knocking for the rent, and when the boys couldn’t pay he kicked them out on their asses. Dean yelled at the man and got himself punched.

Bobby made it clear they were both staying with him. Dean picked back up with his senior year, Sam a freshman. Bobby got Dean to apply to college, and Dean decided he could go since Bobby—and by extension, Ellen—would make sure Sam was okay. He went away for his Bachelor’s degree, but came back home to Bobby’s university for his Master’s and now his doctorate.

All that time. For three years those boys lived in his town. He saw them nearly every day. And he didn’t notice the abuse Dean had been facing. God damn John Winchester for doing that to his boys, and he has no small amount of anger to spare for himself, for not checking in during those six months. To this day he only knows bits and pieces of how they got by; Dean shouldering the weight. Bobby knows Dean still carries it, still feels like he owes Bobby something.

The history he’s shared with the Winchesters—from the time little three year old Dean had marched up to him sitting at a diner:Bobby was just eating a late lunch, and this little kid just started jabbering at him about cars and engines and spaceships and Bobby had to wonder how the kid just _knew_ that he had come from the lab, where he’d worked on a stubborn build, and a frazzled John Winchester had come rushing in after him to see his son sitting with a guy he knew from the VA meetings in town, and explained that his son was a Sentinel and didn’t quite have a hang of the part where you weren’t supposed to go up to strangers and just insert yourself into their lives because you already knew a lot about them just from the way they smelled and looked and sounded, and Dean had said, “Daddy I can hear his heart, it sounds sad,” and Bobby had felt a pang in his chest because this kid, this little Sentinel knew somehow that his wife had passed away only six months before and decided that he needed company at his table. To those several years after Mary died that John took Sam and Dean on the road, but always stopped by when they were near (and didn’t realize until they moved back that _that’s_ what his house had been missing all this time, just some _noise_ ). All the way to Sam’s acceptance to Stanford, and Dean having his heart broken and his senses thrown into a hurricane for the first and then second time, going away and then coming home, and Sam coming home but with a girl this time, and getting married. Dean finally deciding to try aerospace instead of mechanical engineering, and the pride that Bobby feels that his boys are so strong and accomplished and resilient—it all rushes through Bobby’s mind while he sits by the fire with Ellen, who was there the whole time, a secondary support for the Winchesters and a shoulder to lean on for one Dr. Robert Singer.

And Dean’s never liked feeling like a burden. He doesn’t tell them he’s not okay unless they ask, and even then it’s a painful process.

It’s quiet by the fire for a long while, the sounds of the party are a soundtrack to their quiet companionship. It’s easy with Ellen; always has been.

Sam’s lanky form comes into view. He’s obviously had a few drinks; his movements are a little slower than usual, his body loose. He drops to a short stool next to Ellen’s chair.

“Hey there, kiddo.”

“Not a kid, El. You havin’ a good time?”

Ellen brushes her hand through Sam’s hair and he leans into it, eyes closed, reminiscent of a long-legged puppy. “Of course. Seems like you’re having fun, too.”

“Ugh. Charlie made me take shots with her.” He rests his forehead on Ellen’s armrest.

“Tequila?” Ellen sounds amused, and Bobby smothers his chuckle behind his beer—Charlie’s affinity for tequila is well-known and documented. “Where’s Jess?”

“It’s always tequila with Charlie. And Jess is… somewhere. Here, anyway. Probably convincing some poor bastard to let her help fix their wardrobe and using Dean and me as her resume.” He lifts his head, grinning, and then contorts his body so somehow he’s now got his chin resting on the armrest. The move pulls some of the melancholy of the past away from Bobby. Despite all that shit they went through, this kid’s doing alright for himself. It eases something in Bobby to see him so lighthearted.

A shadow crosses nearby, and Sam recognizes him in the firelight before Bobby does.

“Cas! Where’ve you been?”

“Talking to your wife, actually. I just came to say goodbye, I’m on call early tomorrow.”

“I barely got to see you.”

“I’ll see you soon enough.”

“I guess. Have a good night, man.”

“You too, Sam. Ellen, it was good to see you. Bobby, nice to meet you.” Castiel sticks out his hand to shake, and Bobby does, but then Ellen pulls him into a hug and Bobby stifles a laugh at Castiel’s startled expression. Ellen’s clearly adopted the guy, if the hug is anything to go by.

Bobby watches Cas make his rounds to say goodbye, and when he stops at Dean he sees the frown, and the smile Dean uses to cover it up.

Castiel’s departure seems to be the signal for the first wave of people to leave. A few clean up a little in the yard before Dean waves them away, and then they’re left with Benny and Andrea, Elizabeth sleeping in her dad’s lap by the fire, Sam, Jess, Jo, and Charlie pull up a chair or stool by the fire, and Dean joins them shortly after.

“It was a good night,” Jess says. The rest of them make soft agreeing sounds, and then she continues, complaining a little at Dean. “If only you had worn the outfit I picked out for you.” Dean rolls his eyes in response while everyone chuckles at him. Practically Dean’s entire wardrobe has been chosen for him by Jess, Bobby knows, and she gets very put out when he won’t wear what she tells him.

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“No, I’m the boss of your clothes. Sam wore what I picked out!” Sam kisses her on the cheek.

“Sam has to wear what you pick out if he doesn’t want to sleep on the couch.”

“Hey!” Sam protests, loudly. “I wear what Jess picks because she has great taste!”

He’s not wrong, Bobby thinks. Clothes were never very important to him, but Sam looks pretty sharp in his light blue shorts, short-sleeved button-down, and sneakers. At least Jess doesn’t make him wear a suit or some shit. But Bobby didn’t think Dean looks too bad either, except that his clothes look like they’re a size too big.

“You’re so whipped, Sam.”

Sam very maturely sticks his tongue out, and there are some chuckles around the fire. Bobby’s among them while he sips at the rest of his beer. They lapse into silence until Jo starts with a teasing voice.

“Dude, seemed like you and Cas were getting pretty chummy there. Anything you want to share?”

“Nope.”

“C’mon, Dean.”

“Not for all the money in the world, short stack.”

Benny gives a soft laugh with the rest, and adds in, “I wasn’t sure of him at first, but I think you’ve got a good one there, brother.”

Bobby can practically feel Sam bristle at Benny calling Dean brother, but he should know by now that Benny does it just to rile him up.

Dean shakes his head, his laugh ringing false to Bobby. “I don’t _got_ anything, Ben. Cas and I aren’t a thing, you know that.”

“Sure looked like it,” Jo mutters.

Between Benny and Jo, they needle at Dean, and Bobby isn’t sure if they maybe don’t notice or they don’t care, but Dean is getting tense, his body is unmoving like Dean never is, except his hands fidget subtly. Bobby watches his right hand pick at the skin on the back of his left hand, pinching in a way that Bobby knows has got to hurt, but to look at Dean’s face you’d never know it. He narrows his eyes.

He watches Dean’s expression, sees the panic start creeping in with every joke about how Dean and Cas stare at each other.

”The last time someone looked at me like that I got laid, brother,” Benny jokes, and Andrea rolls her eyes at her husband. Sam, Charlie, and Jess are conspicuously quiet through all the teasing, and Bobby thinks they’ve realized this is not a subject Dean is willing to be teased over. Bobby finishes his drink and stands, stopping the conversation and steering it in a different direction.

“Well, I think it’s time us old folks headed home.” Ellen stands with him, the perceptive woman that she is, she probably knows exactly what he’s up to. Jo decides to share a Lyft back home with her mom, Benny and Andrea take Elizabeth home. Charlie is getting a ride with Sam and Jess. Bobby catches Sam on his way out, pulling him into a hug and clapping him on the back. 

Leaning close, Bobby says, “Look out for your brother.”

Sam nods. “I always do.”

“I can hear you two, assholes!” Dean’s voice carries from across the yard. Bobby shakes his head, chagrined, and pulls away from Sam. Damn that boy’s super hearing, sometimes. 

Bobby stays for a few minutes to help Dean put some of the furniture away, but it’s clear Dean’s done talking for the night. He’s barely awake, dragging his feet, even stumbles a couple of times, Bobby reaching out a hand to catch him, but Dean rights himself each time.

“I’ll see you next week, Bobby.”

“Take a break, tomorrow, son. No thesis work, you look wiped.”

“I’m okay.”

“Dean. It’s okay to rest.”

Dean stares at him, uncomprehending, but he says, “Okay,” like maybe it’s a trick.

On the drive home, Bobby can’t help but feel a trickle of worry for Dean. He doesn’t like leaving him all alone, and he forces himself to ignore the urge to turn around and drag Dean back to his house with him.


	9. Chapter 9

As terrible as Dean looks, he _feels_ even worse to Castiel.

Even from a distance, Castiel can tell that Dean isn’t sleeping. Sleep is important, and doubly so for a Sentinel: it’s when they’re able to rest their overworked brains and heal from the stress of the previous day. Castiel has read studies where Sentinels were deprived of sleep, and their bodies began to shut down after only three days. They began to hallucinate far faster than their peers without the enhanced senses of a Sentinel. And Castiel is fairly certain that every Sentinel in those studies was bonded to a Guide. 

Each and every time they are together, even peripherally, he can tell that Dean isn’t getting better. It’s difficult for Castiel to block out what Dean is feeling, but he does it. Mostly. At the party in Dean’s backyard, he actually seemed if not _good_ , then at least somewhat better. Charlie confessed to Cas that she and Dean had smoked the night before, and Dean had practically passed out in the backyard. At least he had slept, though Cas worries there are interactions between Sensinull and marijuana since they’re both depressants. Still, Dean seemed better, so Castiel hadn’t brought it up.

The party on Saturday was odd, to say the least. Castiel had a nice time, and he and Dean spent a large portion of the party eating together, but after Dean stopped to talk to Ellen and Bobby he veered off to sit with Benny. Whatever Bobby said, whether intentional or not… it bothered Dean, and confused Castiel because he thought he and Bobby got along well enough, so what had he said that made Dean pull away? Their goodbye had been stilted, the smile false on Dean’s face. It rankled him.

The following Monday, Castiel stops by Dean’s office to talk to him, and he finds Dean staring off into the distance while sitting at his desk. 

In a zone.

Castiel quickly assesses the current situation. He checks Dean over quickly and finds no physical damage other than two fingers bandaged up, which Dean mentioned burning on the coffee pot earlier in the week, and resolves to try the least invasive methods he knows for bringing someone out of a zone. How easy it is to bring him out will depend on how long Dean has been like this.

With the state Dean’s been in lately, Castiel suspects this won’t be simple. He starts by tapping first. First, Dean’s forehead, then his sinuses next to his nose, the center of his chest, the inside of his elbows, his wrists. He runs through the routine three times before he accepts that Dean isn’t responding to the stimulus.

In one more effort to not invade Dean’s privacy, Cas attempts to use pressure, pushing firmly down on both of Dean’s shoulders, holding, and then methodically squeezing his way down Dean’s arms. _Down, and then start over, don’t go back upwards, start back at the top_ , Castiel recites to himself as he continues the exercise, trying to wake Dean. It doesn’t work.

Given that he doesn’t know what sense triggered this zone, it’s going to be difficult to know what other senses to focus around.

Time to be a Guide, then.

Castiel mentally apologizes to Dean and then rests his hands on top of his friend’s. He positions himself as close as possible to the chair from the side of Dean’s desk, knees slotted together with Dean’s, face only inches away. He breathes in sync with the Sentinel and lets himself _feel_.

Once he’s able to move past the strange sensation of smoke that seems to attempt to cloud his way to Dean’s senses, what he finds beneath takes his breath away.

How is Dean feeling so _much_? The external stimuli must have overwhelmed his exhausted brain. Castiel can hear the traffic outside, students walking, running, listening to music, playing soccer. He hears the other office noises but is able to catalog every single one as though he hears them separately until they become a cacophony of sound that he can’t even begin to understand. The feeling of the seat underneath Dean, his specially woven clothing only doing so much to mitigate the touch input. There’s some kind of stinging sensation around Cas’s ankles. Or are they Dean’s ankles? He can practically taste the air, and he smells… everything. Even things he never thought of having a smell. The doorknob smells metallic, the fibers of the carpet under his feet trap a myriad musk. He can smell himself, even though he is relieved to find it’s not nearly as offensive as the scent of the body spray another teacher in the corridor has just used.

He begins to dial back the senses, starting with one, and gently rotating through them, as though moving through a series of knobs that need to be gently turned down, evenly, one notch at a time.

Time is irrelevant. He dials back, muting sounds, sights, smells. The taste of stale coffee. The feeling of air blowing against his neck. He dials them all back, until suddenly, Dean slumps forward, knocking his forehead slightly against Castiel’s and taking a deep breath.

“Woah.”

“Take it easy,” he says softly, “you’re just coming out of a zone.”

Dean makes a sighing noise of contentment, and Castiel stays with him, matching their breathing, maintaining contact until Dean opens his eyes.

“Dean, can I—I don’t think you should be alone right now. Do you want me to call Sam?”

“No. You,” the words are practically a whisper.

“You want me to stay?” Dean nods, eyes at half-mast.

“Home.”

“I can take you home if you’d like.”

Dean nods again, and Castiel begins to disentangle himself from Dean, slowly removing physical contact, though Dean resists somewhat, making a sound Cas knows Dean would never admit was a whimper. He’s familiar enough with the after-effects of a zone to know he needs to go slow, that forcing a Sentinel to their full senses too quickly after a zone can cause them to slip again.

Cas perseveres by asking Dean simple questions. Does he need his computer? Does he need to tell anyone he's leaving? What books? Where is his bag? He packs it up efficiently, hoping he hasn’t left anything of import, then quietly coaxes Dean into standing and following him through the hallways, into the elevator, out the door, and into Castiel’s car. They have to separate briefly for Cas to get in the driver’s side, but Dean allows him to hold his wrist again when Castiel reaches, and Dean hums contentedly at the renewed contact. 

By the time they arrive at Dean’s house, he’s nearly asleep in the passenger seat. Castiel nearly lets him, but ultimately follows his instincts and the training he’s had to take care of his Sentinel. He snags Dean’s keys to open the door and follows the insistence that he can feel coming from Dean to lead them through his home and into Dean’s bedroom.

They still haven’t talked beyond those initial questions in the office, but Dean pulls Castiel down onto the bed after they’ve both removed their shoes, and wraps himself around Castiel, breathing in deeply.

“Okay, then,” Castiel says aloud, amused. “Rest for a bit, Dean.”

He manages to pull his phone out of his pocket to text Sam.

_I stopped by to see Dean in his office today and he was in a zone._

_Shit. Is he okay?_

_He’s out of it now._   
_I drove him home._   
_I didn’t want you to worry if you had plans tonight._

_We didn’t._   
_Do you think I should go over there?_

_I’m here. I’ll take care of him._

**__** _Are you sure?_

_Positive._   
_He’s okay now. Just resting._

Castiel doesn’t think he’ll fall asleep, but he finds himself being awoken from a light doze when he hears Dean gasp and feels him pull his arms away. Castiel opens his eyes.

“Shit, Cas, I’m so sorry, I don’t know—”

“Dean, it’s fine. I’m just glad I could help.”

“Still, I took advantage of you,” Dean gets out of bed, fussing with his clothing, trying to right the wrinkles that have appeared over the last couple of hours, Castiel supposes. Castiel just wishes that Dean would look at him, especially in the wake of what he just said. How could Dean have possibly taken advantage?

“You were in no state to take advantage of me,” Castiel explains in the calmest voice he can muster, though he knows his forehead is furrowed in confusion.

“I mean, I didn’t do it on purpose, but generally, yeah. It’s a bad idea for us to be friends, you shouldn’t be around me, my senses have been going haywire, and I think it’s really better if we just stay away from each other until I can even out,” Dean says this all in a rush, and it doesn’t even make sense, but he keeps going. And he won’t look at Castiel.

“I’m just, I need to get in control, and I can’t do that with you being all quiet when nothing else is quiet!” He pales a bit after he says it, and Castiel thinks he knows what he means. Dean’s world is loud, after all.

“I’m quiet?” 

“I don’t mean—it’s not a bad thing.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“Just. Can you go? Please? I don’t know how to deal with this.” Dean sounds small.

Cas doesn’t feel ready to leave this man to himself quite yet, so he prompts Dean a bit, attempts to start a conversation. “When I was Guiding you. It was very… loud.”

Dean winces. “Yeah.”

“You feel things very intensely.”

“Yeah.”

“I can help with that. You know that, right?”

“Cas, you only want to help because you’re a Guide.” The look on Dean’s face is some strange mixture of anger and exasperation, and he can’t quite get a read on what exactly makes Dean think that. It’s very reductive to Cas. He’s not _just_ a Guide. He’s a whole person.

Castiel shakes his head; Dean doesn’t understand. “I can help you because I’m a Guide. And I want to, I can’t imagine what it must be like to live like that all the time. But mostly I want to help you because I care about you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” Castiel stands in front of Dean, face to face. He studies the other man’s expression, and Cas’s heart aches at what he finds. And this isn’t the time, not right after Dean’s come out of a zone. Dean is feeling vulnerable, and Cas doesn’t wish to take advantage of that.

This close, he can feel what Dean’s feeling, especially now when Dean’s emotions are right on the surface, and it’s difficult to put into words. A general feeling of disgust permeates throughout Dean’s being, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at anything but himself. He wishes he could remove it. There’s something else, something darker, and Cas just wishes he could see—but no. That’s intrusive. Cas pulls himself back.

“Get some rest, Dean. I’ll talk to you later,” he raises his hand to rest reassuringly on Dean’s shoulder, but Dean avoids it by dodging, moving away from Cas in the opposite direction. The move hurts him enough to speak up, knowing Dean may not like what he has to say.

“Is it so hard to imagine that I might want to help you because you’re you, and not because you’re a Sentinel? Have you not thought about why we resonate so strongly?”

“Every Guide I’ve ever met thinks they resonate with me, it’s nothing new.”

“Dean—”

“Just go, Cas. I’ll text you, okay? I told you my senses were fucked up; I need some time to settle them again.”

“Alright, Dean. Have a good evening. Rest. Please?”

Dean responds with the shadow of a smile. “You got it, Doc.”

***

“This is Dean Winchester. I need a change to my prescription.”

“Which prescription, sir?”

“Sensinull.”

“Alright, let me put you on hold for a moment and I’ll ask the doctor.”

A few minutes pass, and Dean can’t stop jiggling his leg. If he does he’ll vomit, he just knows it.

How could he possibly have slipped so far? A zone? At work? That can’t happen again. He needs to be better about stopping them, knowing when they’re coming. He’s lucky Cas came by, but he knows he shouldn’t be relying on another person to stop his zones. It’s just been difficult lately. In the week following the party, he has more new cuts on his ankles and hips and thighs than he has since he first started taking care of things himself. He started carrying around a small version of his kit in his work bag. He’s had to use it twice when he wasn’t at home and still managed to slip into a full zone. 

He knows what his dad would say. His hand curls into a fist and his fingernails press hard into his palm. _If you can’t control yourself you’re worthless. No Guide is ever going to want to waste their time with you, and why should they?_ And his dad was right. Why would Cas—

“Mr. Winchester? It’s Dr. Gelbman speaking. What seems to be the problem?”

“I don’t think it’s working anymore.”

“Have you been using the techniques Dr. Alastair taught you?”

“Yes. But I’m still—I had a zone today.”

“You’re taking 20 mg, daily, correct? And you haven’t missed any doses?”

“No.”

“Did you come out of your zone naturally?”

“Uh, no. A friend stopped by, and he’s a Guide.”

“I see. Well, it’s concerning that you’re still having zones even with the Sensinull. I’ll increase your dosage and have it sent to your pharmacy.”

“Thanks.”

“Let us know next time before you zone and maybe we can prevent it.” _Click._

Dean bites the inside of his cheek. He will not cry. He is going to go to the pharmacy to pick up his new medication, and then he is going to drink tonight until he feels nothing or passes out, whichever comes first. In the morning, he will take his new dose and everything will be fine.

It’s going to be fine.

Why did Cas have to find him? Why did he zone in the first place? Why does Cas have to be so… _Cas_?

And telling Dean that he cares about him? What the fuck? No matter what Charlie says, even if Cas thinks he’s hot, there’s no way that a Guide like Cas would want anything to do with a Sentinel like Dean. So why is Cas acting the way he does? 

Then again, it’s not like Dean has a lot to go on for how Guides are supposed to deal with their Sentinels. It’s highly romanticized on television shows—the sad, lonely Guide is rescued from all their feelings by the strong and intelligent Sentinel. It’s pretty much bullshit.

Sentinel-Guide pairs aren’t exactly common, but they aren’t _rare_ , either. Dean’s never actually met a Bonded pair, though he’s met plenty of Guides. And then there are people that don’t even need the full Bond to function; Sentinels that are so low-grade that they barely register on the spectrum who never experience a zone, and Guides who don’t even realize they’re Guides, they think they’re just very empathetic people.

Hell, even within Bonded pairs who work together, the relationships vary. Dean knows his dad knew someone in the military who was a Sentinel, and was part of a Bonded pair who were deployed together, but their relationship was purely professional, according to John Winchester. Rufus, on the other hand, he married his Guide. It’s not like there was a rulebook for this. 

The Sentinel-Guide Institute that administers the tests and leads the classes that he never got to attend is supposedly good at advocating for Sentinels and Guides—is made up of Sentinels, Guides, and their family members—but Dean’s never reached out to them. He knows there are rules and laws in place to protect them and allow Bonded pairs to work together even when workplace relationships are outlawed. But that ends his overall knowledge. His dad never wanted him to have much to do with the SGI, and Alastair sneered at their practices. They both were of the mind that the SGI only existed to catalog Sentinels and Guides, that no one _really_ cared about him, that he needed to watch out for himself. He knows there’s some sort of campus group aligned with the SGI, but he tends to avoid it.

So Castiel Novak telling Dean Winchester that he _cares_ , that doesn’t fit. Guides only care about Sentinels because they’re supposed to, in Dean’s experience, and from what Alastair told him. They can’t help it. They don’t care about the person, there’s no reason to. And there’s certainly no reason Castiel would care about Dean, in particular. 

Once he gets the text from his pharmacy that his meds are ready, he picks them up, along with a new bottle of whiskey and some beer. He ends up passing out on the couch after watching _Frozen_ and feeling like he relates to Elsa maybe a little too much.

***

He wakes up the day after his zone with a spectacular headache, dehydrated as fuck, and behind in his grading for classes that he was supposed to accomplish last night. He’s got fourteen missed texts on his phone from Charlie and Sam, Charlie wondering where he is and then expressing concern once she learned about his zone, probably from Cas. Sam’s texts are all variations of “call me when you get this” that imply that he’s seconds from knocking on Dean’s door. He ignores them and gets his running shoes.

Dean spends most of the next week avoiding Castiel, running, and buckling down on his school work.

Charlie comes over one evening and yells at him about ignoring Cas, tries to get him to _see reason_ , but eventually, she leaves after Dean won’t even look at her. She doesn’t understand, Dean will ruin Cas if they Bond, and they certainly can’t be just friends. Dean wants to be way closer to him than friends, and with the way Dean can’t control his own zones, that’s certainly not going to happen.

As the week progresses, and Dean begins to adjust to his new dosage of Sensinull, things improve enough that he starts to think that maybe he just needed this; maybe he just needed his senses dulled enough that he and Cas could actually… be friends?

Dean wrinkles his nose at the idea. He doesn’t want to be friends with Cas. He wants to be _with_ Cas, and he’s pretty sure Cas wants that, too. Though, he’s done a good job at making sure that never happens, this week. Cas has texted him a few times but has mostly honored Dean’s request for space. Cas is probably pissed at him. And he should be, Dean’s been an asshole.

He doesn’t even know how he could convince Cas to take a chance on him after that mess of a zone and the way Dean handled it. And he’s still not sure it’s the best idea to try to make a relationship with a Guide like Cas at this point, but he doesn’t want to stay away. Staying away makes him feel awful. It’s not as bad as that time Cas went to the conference, but it still isn’t fun.

Charlie tries to talk to him again, Benny gives him concerned looks while he attends yoga classes—at odd times, so that he doesn’t bump into Cas—, Sam and Jess make him come over for dinner. Jess tries to bolster him and convince him that Cas will want to go on a date with Dean. Charlie finally corners him and tells him he’s being an idiot, that she loves him, and that Cas will definitely want to date him.

Dean’s still not sure. And as the week comes to a close, something shifts in him, making him feel empty inside, and he lays awake all night wondering why. Why would Cas decide to be with someone like him, an empty shell? He idly pressed a kitchen knife to the inside of his elbow earlier in the day—not slicing, just trying to feel the pressure of the blade—and felt nothing, until seemingly with no cause, a cold fear shook him to his core, sending him to hide in his bedroom after dropping the knife on the counter with a clatter.

And here he is, laying in his bed, swinging between feeling empty and feeling filled to the brim, overflowing with fear. Is this it? Is this what his life is going to be? He was sure he was going to be alone—was _supposed_ to be alone, and he thought he was fine with it. But then Cas showed up and it was so nice to have a friend for a time. They could be more, but then they might be too much, and Dean is afraid.

Before Dean can make up his mind what to do, Cas takes the choice out of his hands.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean’s ignoring him, and it makes Castiel ache. 

Cas is highly empathetic, after all. Not with everyone, but it’s strongest when his Sentinel is ignoring him. Even as he has the thought he has to kick himself; he has to remind himself constantly that Dean isn’t his Sentinel. But even being around Sam is difficult, because he’s just enough like Dean that Cas can’t decide if he wants Sam to go away, or maybe just be Dean instead.

It’s part of why Cas keeps his stoic facade. He’s become good at shutting out most emotions. He’s found it to be a solid control mechanism, even if he knows it’s maybe not the most emotionally healthy thing he does. He’s trying.

By the sixth day of no contact, Cas has had enough. There are only a few places Dean could be and he’s going to track him down and they are going to talk. With words. It’s either going to go very well or very poorly.

He texts Charlie. 

_Where is Dean._

_Uh oh. Mr. Grumpy. Are you ready to stop Dean’s pouting?_

_Yes._

_Thank god. He’s been angsting all over the place_   
_He’s at home_   
_He doesn’t have classes today_

_Thank you_

_Good luck!_

Cas feels a bit bolstered that Charlie seems confident in his ability to stop Dean’s “angsting.” But he doesn’t understand what happened. The last time he saw Dean was when he found him in his office in a zone. Dean said he needed time to get himself together, but that was six days ago, and Cas is pretty sure that he deserves at least a text message.

Castiel climbs into his car, and drives over to Dean’s house with a single purpose: get Dean to talk to him.

He marches up the front step, and Dean is already standing at the door.

“What do you need, Cas?” Dean looks tired like he’s falling asleep on his feet. Cas wants to wrap him in his arms until the man takes a ten-hour nap, preferably with Cas, but he almost doesn’t care, as long as he sleeps, but he knows that’s not going to happen. 

“What the hell?”

“What?”

“Are you ghosting me?”

“Do you even know what ghosting is?”

“Charlie told me,” Cas responds, testy. “And it’s what you’re trying to do to me. Why?”

Dean doesn’t respond but stares at him blankly, watching him fume on the front porch for a moment. Then invites him inside with an excuse.

“I don’t want to fight with you on the porch.”

Cas squashes the urge to throw his hands in the air melodramatically. “I don’t even understand why we’re fighting! What happened?”

Dean leaves Castiel where he’s standing near the door and moves across the room, turning off the television where it’s playing a commercial for some kind of kitchen contraption, no doubt endorsed by a has-been celebrity chef. “Nothing happened. But I don’t think we should be friends anymore.” Dean’s voice is monotone and forced like it’s taking a lot of effort for him to speak.

“Why?”

Dean looks away, he won’t even make eye contact with Cas. The large space between them feels more than physical in this moment. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if I don’t agree. Did I do something?” His insides that have been churning with anxiety and anger begin twisting uncomfortably once more. This might be his fault, and he doesn’t even know it.

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong,” He doesn’t reach out to intentionally read Dean, but Castiel can practically feel Dean’s yearning just to be close, and along with that the push-pull of his own will, holding him back. Physical distance is helping with his impulses, at the very least.

“Then what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Something happened. Something scared you. What?”

“Cas, I don’t—“

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t—“

“What!” Cas wants to shake him, shake the words loose. It helps his self control that Dean stays across the room from him, an ottoman and a sofa in his way to prevent Cas from throttling the Sentinel.

“I don’t think I can be just friends with you. But I can’t bond with you, I’m sorry. I can’t do that.” 

It stings, but it’s not entirely unexpected, and so he can’t stop himself demanding a reason, hoping that Dean will let him in this time. He was ready to be just friends with Dean, but now that’s being taken from him, too. “Why not? Why not, if we both want that?”

“Can you just trust me on this?” Dean’s eyes plead with him, but Castiel isn’t sure he can do it. He’s not sure he can stay just the right distance from Dean, not without crossing some kind of line.

“So you’re saying you can’t even be friends with me?”

Dean makes a sound of frustration from across his living room, arms crossed defensively. “You don’t understand—”

“No, I don’t, I don’t understand!” Cas thinks he finally understands in movies when characters complain about “mixed messages,” because Dean’s attitude has him confused. It often feels as though they’re on the verge of a romantic relationship, and then Dean turns cold and while Cas knows that Dean is afraid of getting too close to a partner, especially a Guide, it’s jarring at best.

“Cas, man, this thing, it’s just—” Dean cuts himself off and Cas feels the tingly press of embarrassment from the Sentinel. “You gotta know I’ve been into you since we met.”

Cas knows that he’s been “into” Dean since the very beginning, but he was quite sure that those fluttery feelings were internal, and not coming from Dean. Right? 

“You keep saying you don’t want to Bond.”

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’re… worried about forming a relationship. Though frankly, what we have now is a form of a relationship, you must see that.”

“Uh. Yeah, I guess it is.”

Cas gestures helplessly. “Then I don’t know what else we can do. If we can’t be friends and we can’t Bond, and you don’t want a relationship, but it’s painful for me to be away from you at this point, especially because I know you’re hurting, Charlie said—“

Cas!” Dean interrupts him, looking unsure. “We could, uh. Date?”

“Date?” Castiel is taken aback. “I didn’t think you wanted a ‘relationship.’”

“Date. Like, go on dates? Not a relationship, not yet. Maybe build up to it?” Dean sounds hesitant.

“You want to date me?” Taken aback by the sudden turn, Castiel stares at Dean.

Dean’s face drains of color. “Oh. Right. I got it, it’s fine. I totally misread it—“

“No—no, you didn’t misread it, I was just surprised. You want to date me?”

“Kind of a lot. But I get it if you don’t want to date me.”

“No! I mean yes. I want to. Let’s date.” Castiel wants that a great deal. He wants Dean any way he can get him, really.

A slow, tentative smile breaks out on Dean’s face, and it’s like a thousand sunrises, to Castiel. “Really?”

“Really. Can I—can I kiss you?”

“Uh, yeah. But can we… minimize the touching? It’s uncomfortable.”

Well, it’s not ideal, but Cas will work with what he can get. He moves slowly towards Dean to broadcast his intent to finally close the distance and eliminate the obstacles between them and places his right hand on Dean’s waist, tentative. Dean gasps but doesn’t protest. Dean is taller than him, but only just, and when he takes Dean’s face in his left hand he leans into it and Cas is sure that Dean isn’t being entirely truthful with him when he said that touching is uncomfortable right now, but he’ll let it slide, as long as he gets this.

And this. This is amazing. The breath before the phrase, and then his mouth on Dean’s, kissing, gently. Caressing Dean’s soft lips with his own, slightly chapped. Sucking another kiss, light enough to be a feather, on the corner of Dean’s mouth. When Dean begins to kiss him back, using his own lips and teeth to make his place at home on his mouth, their noses bump together but Cas doesn’t care, he’s finally getting this, yes, yes, yes. His own pleasure in the kiss is echoed from far away, coming closer, Dean’s feelings beginning to breach the surface from where he buries them deep, thinking he can’t have this, thank god he’s letting himself have this, thank god he’s letting Cas have this.

Dean begins to pull away, and Cas lets him, one more nip on Dean’s bottom lip, and his eyes open. Dean’s green eyes are closer than Cas has ever seen them, and wow, up close there are flecks of gold, of brown, and Cas never noticed.

“Your eyes… they’re lovely.”

Dean blushes and looks away from Cas’s intense gaze, and Cas notices the freckles on Dean’s cheeks that he had seen fleetingly from a distance, but up close they’re nothing short of adorable. A moment later their gazes meet again. Cas is still holding Dean, and since Dean hasn’t pulled away yet, the discomfort must not be happening at the moment.

“That was…” Dean says, his gruff voice deeper than usual, then shakes his head and clears his throat, his mouth—oh, that mouth—spreading to a wide grin.

“Yes. Agreed. We should do it again, very soon.”

They stare at each other some more, and Cas thinks maybe this is what Sam was talking about when he told him, “You guys stare at each other more than anyone I know who isn’t fucking”.

Dean licks his lips, and Cas’s eyes dart down to track the movement. He takes a breath and then pulls himself out of Cas’s hold, but immediately the happiness that glowed from within the Sentinel dims slightly, as soon as they lose contact. It makes Cas want to hold him again, but he won’t do that, won’t violate Dean’s single request.

“Dean, I’d very much like to take you to dinner tonight. Would that be possible?”

“Yeah, that sounds great. Somewhere quiet?”

“Of course.”

***

Dating Cas isn’t that much different than being friends, except now Dean feels less embarrassed when Cas catches him staring, or when Cas says something adorable, and Dean’s allowed to tell him he’s cute. 

The empty space is easier to chase away, but a problem remains that Cas’s warmth can’t solve—Dean’s afraid. If he lets Cas get too close, they might form a bond, and he can’t make Cas do that. He just can’t. If past experience has taught him anything, it’s that he was made wrong. A bond probably wouldn’t even work with him, and if it did, he’s sure it would be tainted. Dean thinks he might be rotten on the inside like if you broke him open he would be filled with worms and dark, smelly dirt that you don’t find unless you dig really really deep.

He sometimes has nightmares of worms crawling on his body, of being trapped in a coffin, which is not helping him sleep.

Dean doesn’t let Cas’s touch linger. They’ve kissed, but only a little. Small pecks, nothing more than that first kiss which was mind-blowing for a kiss without even using tongues, Jesus, fuck, but Dean won’t allow for more of that, and he can tell Cas is a little frustrated; every time Dean moves away from him, Dean’s sure it’s another tick in the “Dean Is Too Much Work” column. Dean allows for hand-holding because he can’t always say he’s feeling it too much to get out of it and spare Cas’s feelings, and Cas is probably trying to spare Dean’s feelings anyway. He’s nice like that.

It’s probably a good thing, Dean thinks. If Cas is frustrated with him this soon, he’ll be done with him that much faster. They’ve even shared a bed a few nights, though Dean stays strictly, painfully on the opposite side of the bed. Once, he woke up and he had moved into Cas’s space in his sleep, head on Cas’s chest, head tucked under Cas’s chin, their legs tangled together. He flew out of the bed so quickly and into the bathroom with his spare kit held tightly in his hand that Cas startled awake. He tried to talk to Dean, but Dean was busy trying to pull his shit together. He didn’t cut that day, but it was only Cas’s presence outside the door that stopped him. What if Cas came in and saw what he was doing? What if he felt it? What if Dean caused Cas pain by doing it so close to him? He can’t risk that. When Dean had finally opened the door, he dreaded having to give an explanation, but it turned out he didn’t have to. Cas’s eyes swept over him from head to toe, a visual examination of Dean’s state, and finding him in no physical danger, Cas quietly asked Dean if he was alright, and would he like to have breakfast?

And really, besides that small frustration of not being able to touch Dean, Cas seems happy. He definitely gets annoyed when Dean keeps space between them, takes every opportunity to hold his hand or give him a quick kiss. Dean thinks he might be crazy for it, but he wants Cas to stick around as long as possible. Even if that’s selfish.

Dean also knows that dating him is a pain in the ass because they can’t really “go out” all that often. A lot of their dates are at one of their houses, or at a time that avoids crowds and peak hours because while Dean functions mostly okay, those things can still trigger sensitivity and zones. The Roadhouse is Dean’s safe bar, despite the loud patrons and busy atmosphere, it’s so familiar to him that it couldn’t be anything else.

Dean remembers right before their first date, being a nervous wreck, standing in front of his closet in his underwear, completely clueless. He finally ended up calling Jess.

“Jess, help.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m going on a date and you know my closet better than I do.”

“What pants are you wearing?”

“I dunno. Red? Ish? Purple?”

“The burgundy ones?”

“I don’t fucking know!” They look reddish-purple to him. How is he supposed to know the name of every single color?

“You don’t have red pants. Show them to me.”

Dean sighed but snapped a photo of his pants laid out on the bed. A moment later, Jess responded with a plan of action.

“You’re wearing burgundy.”

“Okay.”

“Put on your navy polka dots.”

“What?”

Jess sounded like she was probably going to kill him, but he didn’t even care, “The dark blue one with the tiny white dots? Put it on. And the brown tweed jacket.” Dean only has one brown jacket, so that one wasn’t difficult to figure out. “And put on your chelsea boots.”

“Uh.”

“... the short brown ones, idiot.”

There are good things, too. Dean’s been taking the increased dose of Sensinull for five weeks now, and his symptoms are easing a little. He’s no longer nauseous all the time, so even though he’s still not exactly hungry, he eats. He breathes a bit easier, his chest feeling less tight. His headaches haven’t entirely disappeared, but they’ve changed, reduced in frequency and duration. He’s even sleeping more, though judging by the dark circles under his eyes and the number of times he’s almost bit it tripping over his own two feet, it’s probably still not enough. But it’s better.

Cas comes to yoga with him once in a while, too. Cas had asked him about it, so Dean brought him along to class. Benny always smirks at them when they unroll their mats next to each other, and Dean thinks seeing Cas in yoga shorts or form-fitting leggings and thin t-shirts might be the thing that causes his heart to fail. Even those loose-fitting flowy pants do it for him, fueling his shower fantasies for days afterward. Jess always raises her eyebrows knowingly at him when she catches him staring, and it makes Cas laugh.

And, well. If those thoughts about not existing anymore still hang around, he’s trying to pretend they’re not there. Cas makes it easier, but he still has days he doesn’t want to leave his bed. On those days, Cas comes over after work and stays near enough to touch but never touches without permission.

Dean might love him. It’s going to break him when Cas is finished with him, but he’s determined to enjoy it while he has it.

The best part is that it’s easier to be around Cas. He’s not so worried about keeping his emotions in check, and he doesn’t have to work so hard to break intense focus on one of his senses when something strong shows up. Fewer surprises are better, as far as he’s concerned, so he still tries to avoid strong sensations. He can’t always do it, sometimes things happen: an alarm goes off, a bug bite is particularly itchy, a candy is so unexpectedly sour it makes his jaw tingle; Cas laughed at that for about five minutes, so it’s good to know the Sensinull is doing its job again. He hasn't even had to get his lighter out in a week. He’s basically a person again.

He knows that Cas is still worried, still thinks that Dean doesn’t sleep enough or eat enough, but he’s glad that Dean is at least taking care of his basic needs again. Cas mother hens him a bit, getting him to have snacks, practically force-feeds him a batch of Gabe’s brownies while Dean laughs at him and makes a joke about Cas trying to fatten him up.

“Yes, I’m trying to fatten you up so I can eat you. Now, eat this brownie.” He pushes it towards Dean’s mouth, and Dean laughs while he attempts to escape death by chocolatey suffocation.

“Cas, I’ve already had two! I think you’re just trying to make me fat so no one else will want me.”

“You have a long way to go before you could possibly be considered ‘fat,’ Dean. And besides, anyone who wouldn’t want you if you were fat wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Eat it.”

Dean eats the brownie and doesn’t even feel sick afterward. Just full and happy, and he thinks this might be the closest to content he’s ever been.

With Amara, it was always wild, always an adventure. If there wasn’t action going on, she wanted to find it, and she wanted to keep them right in the middle. And she wanted Dean right where she could see him. Looking back at his relationship with Lisa, he recognizes that it wasn’t a good fit. It was fine, but Lisa shied away when he came near, sometimes, the sensations he was dealing with were just too strong for her. He thought the bendy yoga teacher would have a deeply calm disposition and strength to handle him, but he overwhelmed her.

Cas is the safe haven inside of a storm. He’s the bulletproof bunker where Dean can reset and reload for the next foray out into the storm, into the battle.

Dean thinks if they Bonded it would be nearly perfect.

Those thoughts are dangerous, though. He can’t do that. He’d be the storm inside the shelter. He’s the bomb brought into the bulletproof bunker. He destroys. And he can’t destroy Cas.

Cas confesses to Dean that it was very difficult for him to not say anything before regarding his concerns for Dean’s health, especially when he found Dean in his office in the middle of a zone.

“I worried about you. I still worry about you.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean smirks. “What are you worried about now? I’m fine.”

“You’re too skinny. And pale, and you don’t sleep enough, you’re so tired you trip over your own feet!” Dean’s amusement fades into something a little more fond. Cas worries about him, and even though Dean hates being fussed over, there’s a corner of him that thrills over Cas caring.

“Aw, you’re sweet. I’m doing good, Cas. I promise.” Dean’s not used to being paid this kind of sustained attention and interest, and it’s nice. And a little confusing.

And they still play the question game. Last time it ended, it was Cas’ turn. And tonight, they’re at Dean’s house.

“I thought of the question I wanted to ask.”

It’s easier to tell secrets in the dark. To bare the most intimate parts of you, not that Dean’s ever been good at sharing parts of himself, but with Cas, he’s getting better, and to ask awkward questions. The dark lets you hide and forgives you when you can’t keep the questions in any longer. Dean’s sharp Sentinel eyes see in the dark quite well, but the dark allows him to hide from Cas’s gaze.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean. It’s less of a question and more of a...” he pauses for a moment, trying to find the right words, “wondering comment?”

Dean’s pulse quickens slightly at Cas’s words. What kind of wondering comment could Cas have? Is he finally going to ask why Dean doesn’t want a Guide? He knows Cas has been wondering, but he’s never really asked? Wondering at his instinct to run away when they first met—admittedly, most Sentinels would not react like that, Dean knows he’s fucked up. Is he starting to wonder at how Dean of all people, the idiot brother, ended up in a doctoral program? Dad always did, either ignored it when Dean did well in school or just seemed surprised during their infrequent phone calls to hear Dean didn’t flunk out of college, had actually told him in high school it would be better if he just dropped out and worked at Caleb’s garage, supported the family?

“Sometimes you move away when I touch you,” he ventures, quite cautiously, “and I know it aggravates you when it’s someone unfamiliar, but I had hoped that I would be… allowed. By now.”

What? That’s what he was wondering about? Dean knows it’s been annoying to Cas, not to be closer, but he was sure Cas understood the reason. And now, he’s not sure what to say.

The pair of them lay on his large bed in the dark, curved toward each other like closed parenthesis, their words filling the space between them. How could Cas wonder about something like that? Isn’t the answer obvious? Especially to Cas, Guide that he is.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to touch me,” Dean blurts out, unable to keep the words from escaping his mouth, “it’s more that you shouldn’t have to.”

“I shouldn’t have to?” Cas seems confused, furrowing his brow. 

A cold feeling of dread begins spreading through Dean’s chest, expanding slowly outward and causing him to take faster, shallower breaths while he considers Cas’s confusion. He doesn’t know? He doesn’t understand? How does Dean explain something that is so central to his understanding of the universe? It’s simple, and he’s never had to explain it to someone before because everyone else he’s been with figured it out on their own. Dean destroys; Dean doesn’t get what he wants. Dean is bad.

“Hey, hey,” Cas begins to sit up, Dean knows he must feel the echoes of Dean’s panic tingle, probably in his fingers; they’re so close to Dean. This close, how could he not feel it? He hesitates to move his hand to Dean’s shoulder to soothe him, but Dean watches his decision not to touch him without permission play out on his face, “Stop, please, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Dean follows him in sitting up, though he quickly hunches his shoulders, instinctively making himself smaller, less of a target. And he won’t look at Cas. He won’t. 

“No. I mean, I’m fine. You really… Look, people don’t. They don’t. Stay. With me. After.”

“After what?” 

“Cas, you’re not this stupid,” Dean chances a glance over at him, but the Guide’s forehead is simply creased in confusion. “After they’ve—we’ve slept together,” people don’t want Dean. At least not for long. They want him in their beds because he’s pretty - how many times has he been told that his “pretty mouth” would get him in trouble? They get what they need from him and then the transaction is finished. And look how it’s ended every time he tries to extend that intimacy. No, it’s clear Dean doesn’t get to have that. He’s fine for a fuck, but for anything else? He knows that it turns people away when they find out how much work it is to be around him; Amara did. Lisa did. Even Ketch. Everyone does. “They leave,” Dean tells Cas.

Cas’s face darkens somewhat in anger. Dean rushes to explain, “I wanted you to stay longer. We can’t Bond, not with me the way that I am, but I like having you around. It’s selfish. Shit, Sam’s right, I’m—sorry,” he looks over to the window, where he sees the rain that he had been listening to all evening splashing against the frame. 

It’s raining hard, the drizzle that had started in the afternoon having graduated to fat raindrops. Cas had walked to Dean’s house during the afternoon after he finished work and had ruffled his messy hair to get the water out, shaken his head like a dog once Dean was close enough to get splashed, making him laugh. They had eaten dinner and gone to lay in Dean’s bed soon after the power had gone out, to share secrets in the dark, their little question game. He hadn’t anticipated him asking this question, finding out quite so soon the reason he’d want to leave. Or he thought maybe Cas already knew, and was just biding his time. 

He begins to move off the bed, away from Cas’s warmth, “I’ll go sleep on the sofa, you shouldn’t walk home tonight. Or, duh. I’ll drive you. I can drive you,” he’s definitely rambling, but as long as he talks and stays in action, he doesn’t need to face the anger on Cas’s face, and doesn't need to acknowledge his own feelings attempting to worm their way in.

“You want me to go?”

“You’re angry with me! Don’t you want to go?” He doesn’t turn to look at Cas. He shouldn’t have even opened his mouth. Dean should’ve agreed with Cas and just said that he doesn’t want people to touch him. Dean would’ve gotten to keep him longer, even if his skin would hunger for his touch even more than it already does. Skin hunger: it’s real, Dean looked it up.

“I’m not angry with you!”

Dean turns to face him, finally. “Of course you are!” He’s beginning to be annoyed that Cas is playing dumb. Aren’t Guides perceptive? Dean thought they were supposed to be able to feel people, or whatever. Cas certainly knows what Dean is feeling often enough, so why isn’t he catching on? “And you should be! I led you on, I know I told you we shouldn’t Bond, but I let you think there was hope, even though I knew there was no way in hell you should be Bonded to me. I let you stick around, even though I should’ve told you to go and find a Sentinel that would be better suited. You need a better Sentinel. I have to take fucking Sensinull to deal with being such a piece of shit, I’m not a good Sentinel, I’m not good—“

“Dean, you’re beautiful.”

Dean’s cheeks turn pink and he snorts. “Sure. Whatever. But it’s not enough.” I’m not enough, he reminds himself. He has to remind himself so he doesn’t forget.

“Dean, what are you saying, exactly? Because I don’t want to go. I will if that’s what you really want. But I don’t want to go, do you understand? Given a choice between you and any other Sentinel—any other person, really—and I’m going to pick you every time,” Cas’s low voice has a pleading tone and Dean almost crumbles.

Castiel shouldn’t pick Dean. “Listen, I know you think that you want me, but I promise you that you don’t” He casts around his mind, “It’s just because you’re a Guide. I’m not a very good Sentinel, but you guys never seem to realize that. I zone way too easily, my senses are too sharp sometimes, and too dull other times. I’m supposed to be able to take care of all this myself, but I can’t. I have to take this stupid drug just to keep myself from going insane. So I should be alone. I’m not someone a Guide needs to waste their time with, and I’m sorry I’ve wasted yours.”

“You don’t think you deserve a Guide?”

Dean snorts, “I don’t deserve a lot of things—”

“You deserve to be taken care of!” Cas’ incredulous statement makes Dean’s hackles rise.

“I can take care of myself,” he replies with the heat of anger creeping into his voice. “I need to be better at stopping my zones, but that’s on me! I’m taking care of it!” His flat hand pounds on his chest for emphasis.

“Of course you can take care of yourself, but you don’t always have to. That’s literally what Guides are for. And how exactly are you supposed to stop a zone from happening?” Cas looks like he’s getting angrier by the second.

“I’m supposed to be alone.”

“According to whom, exactly? And please, tell me, how do you stop a zone by yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean looks away, remembering the harsh words thrown at him after his dad pulled him out of a zone when he was younger. You’re not worth a Guide’s time if you can’t control yourself, you fucking moron. Now, get dressed, Dr. Alastair is going to hear about this. Alastair might have taught him to control his zones, but his dad taught him to be alone. “We’re getting off-topic.”

“No, I think we’re right where we need to be,” Cas replies, irritation warring with something on his face that Dean might describe as pity, “you don’t think I want to touch you, even though I do because someone taught you that you’d what? Ruin someone just by touching them—”

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth!”

“Which part is the truth?”

“I ruin people! I’m either too much or not enough for Guides, regular people can’t deal with all the baggage that comes with a shitty Sentinel, and then they see my scars and figure out that I’m no good, and so they leave. If I could just control myself better, there would be no scars, and—”

“What scars?”

Dean’s chest goes colder. He hadn’t meant to talk about his scars. They scare people away. The cigarette burns from his dad on his hip, the careful, even parallel lines scattered around his body—they tell a story of failure to anyone who’s observant enough to read it. And Cas is observant. Very observant. 

Dean’s been rejected by a lot of people, but he suddenly realizes this is the first time it really matters. He tried to keep Cas around because Cas is it, he would be a perfect Guide for a Sentinel better than Dean, and to exactly no one’s surprise, Dean’s failing. 

He can feel the cold that had receded in the face of his anger return, growing and growing, spreading from his chest down to his elbows and knees, wrists and ankles; and it’s beginning to feel like the start of a zone. His fingers will be too clumsy soon, and fuck, he’s overstimulating himself in the middle of an argument. His breaths start to come faster, and he shivers. He needs to stop it. Jesus, could the timing be worse? He stumbles sideways half a step with the realization, dizzy, and then dives for his nightstand. Dean remembered to re-stock, he must have.

He hears Cas’s quick gasp and knows that he must feel his panic. There’s no suppressing whatever he’s throwing out into the world right now, Dean has just enough brainpower to mentally apologize for the pain he might be causing Cas by doing this, but he has to stop the zone somehow. He hears Cas’s rapid footsteps coming towards him, around the bed, and throws his arm out to stop him before he reaches Dean.

“Stop! I can do this! I can do this on my own I can do it, I can. I can. I—” he fumbles for the drawer, one-handed, and pulls out the kit with the little knife that he keeps nearby at all times.

“Holy shit, Dean, what are you doing?”

“I’m zoning, I need to stop it—” he’s already pulling out the knife and yanking his t-shirt up and the band of his underwear down, exposing past burns and scars, to bring the blade to his hip to make small cuts, no time for sanitizing. If those aren’t enough, he hopefully has time to get out his lighter. It makes a more obvious mark, but it hurts more, it’s more effective.

“You’re not zoning, you’re panicking,” Cas reaches his hand out, reaches for Dean, but he’s already cut into his hip, bright red blooming along the cut, and the sound of Dean’s deep sigh permeates the room. Cas is quietly pleading with him, Dean knows he’s trying to see a way to pull Dean’s hand away, even though Dean’s holding a knife. “Dean, please stop, we need to clean that before it gets infected.”

Dean looks over at his wide blue eyes. The zone seems to have stopped, but he can feel himself teetering on the edge of the drop that happens so often after these almost-zones. “It’s fine, I promise. The blade is mostly clean, and I have alcohol wipes in here,” he gives Cas a shaky smile. How has tonight gotten so out of control? Dean sits down on the bed. He stares at the ground and waits for the inevitable sound of the door closing behind Cas. He knew that it was all going to end eventually, but he didn’t think it would be tonight. And he feels strangely calm about it. Like all of his emotions have been emptied out by one little cut. Cas must have seen the cigarette burns. They're faded, but they're still there. And he can't dredge up a whole lot of emotion about it.

Cas’s face is suddenly in Dean’s field of vision, and he’s holding a wipe and a bandage from his kit, “I’m just going to clean this, okay?” His voice sounds quiet, soothing as he gently wipes Dean’s blood away with the little square and places the bandage on. Right. Cas is a doctor. He’s probably obligated to make sure Dean isn’t bleeding before he leaves.

Cas gives a little kiss to the area over top of the bandage. “See? All better,” Cas looks up at him, kneeling between his legs, a ghastly imitation of something he’s only dreamed of, with a look on his face that Dean doesn't dare to attempt to interpret.

“Why are you still here, Cas?”

“Because you’re in pain. And I told you, I don’t want to go.”

“It doesn’t count when I did it to myself.”

“It counts. I want to stay.”

“Cas—”

He shushes Dean, “It’s my turn to talk now. First, what you just experienced wasn’t a zone. That was a panic attack. There are absolutely zero cases of a Sentinel being able to feel their own impending zone; they’re only able to tell in other Sentinels. Second,” he pauses, “I don’t want to leave. You’re not going to ruin me. Those people who left you before are idiots and assholes. I don’t believe for a second you’re as rotten on the inside as you seem to think you are. Your brother and your friends wouldn’t be as devoted to you as they are if you were. They love you. Don’t you trust their judgment?”

Cas wouldn’t understand. Dean’s tricking them. “Not when it comes to me. They can’t see it.”

“I think they probably see you just fine. Will you come back to bed? Can we sleep, and talk about it in the morning?”

“Will you still be here in the morning?”

“I promise I will be.”

“You don’t need to be if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,”

“I’m just saying. If we go to sleep, and you’re not here in the morning. No hard feelings, okay?”

“When you wake up in the morning and I’m still here, will you believe me that I don’t want to leave? I know you may not be ready to hear this, but I do want to bond with you eventually. If that’s something that you want.”

Of course, it’s something he wants. Dean just doesn’t understand why it’s something Cas wants. He looks at Cas suspiciously. Maybe it’s all a trick. People say things all the time. “I’ll try.”

“Okay. Then I’ll be here.”

***

_Dean’s in a zone. He doesn’t remember going in, and it’s difficult to describe to people who don’t know, but a zone is so peaceful. There’s nothing there. Nothing to overwhelm, nothing to think about. He has no concept of time or space. It’s just nothing._

_Then it’s something. It’s fire across his back. It’s loud, someone is crying, and someone else is yelling. And it hurts._

_“Dammit, Dean, wake the fuck up!”_

_And he’s back in the real world. His father is whipping him with a belt made of flames, his little brother is crying in the corner._

_“Dad, stop, he’s back, he’s back!”_

_“Are you back, Dean?”_

_“Yes, sir,” Dean responds weakly._

_“Was that a zone, boy?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“What did we say about zones?”_

_“Control them.”_

_“Did you control it? Or did it control you?”_

_“It controlled me,” his back is on fire._

_“We’re gonna keep going until you’re back in control,” and he continues to whip Dean. Sam screams._

_The flames spread from his back until the entire house is on fire, and he’s watching his whole family burn on the ceiling._

***

Dean wakes. The nightmare isn’t new, but it’s no less terrible for being familiar. He looks to his left and sees Cas watching him. He must’ve cried out. Cas reaches out a hand for him with wide eyes, and Dean flinches. He closes his eyes.

When he falls back asleep he doesn’t dream.


	11. Chapter 11

In the morning, Cas is still there, and the power is back on, his alarm clock blinking the wrong time. Cas must be some kind of masochistic idiot. But Dean promised he’d try to believe Cas, and he thinks maybe the first step is believing him when he says he wants to stay.

Dean gives him a tired smile. “Morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Sorry I woke you up last night.”

Cas's concerned gaze focuses on Dean. “Do you have dreams that intense often?”

“How did you know it was a dream?”

“I guessed. You mumbled something. I could tell you were in pain, but not in pain in real life. It’s difficult to explain.”

“Oh. Yeah, I have dreams sometimes. They’re fine.”

“They don’t seem fine.”

“Well, they are.” Feeling defensive, and too exposed, he gets out of bed.

Both of them wearing pajama pants and t-shirts, Dean leads the way to the kitchen, trying to shake off the exposed feeling. He considers adding more layers of clothing but knows that it wouldn’t actually help. Instead, he tries to remember what he has to make them breakfast.

“Can we talk about this?”

“About what?” Dean’s the king of avoidance. He can smell the vinegar in the cleaning spray he mixed the other day and thinks he probably used too much if the scent is lingering in the kitchen the way that it is. He bumps into the wall when he turns the corner. He must be half asleep. Cas steadies him and Dean waves him off.

“About bonding. Eventually.”

Dean sighs. “I know you think I’m just being stubborn—”

“Dean, in the Guide courses they talk to us about this. What it’s like to meet someone you resonate with. And someone you resonate with so strongly is almost unheard of.”

“Lucky you, got to go to Guide class and everything.” Dean’s not bitter at all.

Cas appears almost startled, which Dean thinks should maybe offend him except when Cas is startled he looks like an owl and it’s adorable. “You didn’t take Sentinel courses?”

“How could I? We were poor as shit, Cas. And my dad had to waste a bunch of money on medical bills for me after my senses dialed up to eleven in high school.”

“So how did you learn about everything you could do?”

“Trial and error, mostly,” Dean shrugs, “it’s not a big deal.”

“It might be a big deal. What was your information source for your sense development?”

He’s lived with it since he was a kid, did he really need more information? “Uh. Me? I mean, I had a doctor. He prescribed stuff. Gave me exercises.”

“Hurting yourself.” Cas clearly isn’t impressed by what he’s deduced, but Dean can admit to himself that he’s not wrong. Alastair might have given it a different name, but it isn’t inaccurate.

Dean squirms. “I know it’s not great, but it works.”

Cas has his Dr. Novak face on. “Dean, this self-harm—”

That one goes a little too far, though. A doctor told him to do it, it’s not like he’s using it as some kind of fucked-up outlet for his shitty feelings. Right? “It’s not self-harm, Cas, Jesus. I’m not some fifteen-year-old—”

“It’s self-harm, Dean. Regardless of your reasons.”

“Whatever. It works.”

“Who was the doctor you saw?”

“A psychiatrist. He was a specialist in treating Sentinels.”

“Treating Sentinels for what, exactly?”

What does he mean for what? “I don’t know. Treating them for being Sentinels?”

Cas frowns. “Being a Sentinel isn’t a mental illness you can treat.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Do you still see him?”

“No. He, uh.” He rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “His license was revoked. For abuse of minors. Besides, I’ve got a new guy. Been seeing him for almost ten years.”

Cas goes still, visibly processing what Dean had just said. “Abuse.”

Dean rolls his eyes and grabs a pan from the cabinet. “Yeah. Some kid complained, and the medical board didn’t like his methods.”

“It takes more than a single complaint to lose your medical license.”

Dean knows. There were a lot of charges against Alastair, after all, though none from the Winchesters. “Yeah, well. I didn’t complain. My dad would’ve kicked my ass.” He gives a sardonic laugh. What a shit show. _Better Cas sees it now_ , he reminds himself.

“Do you mind if I ask what he prescribed you?”

“Some kind of sedative. Pretty much just kept up with what my old family doctor had been giving me.”

Cas closes his eyes. Dean can hear him forcing his breathing to stay even, and he can hear that his heart rate has picked up slightly. “Cas? It’s fine, I don’t take it anymore, anyway.”

“The use of sedatives to control Sentinel senses hasn’t been a best practice for many years, Dean. At least twenty years. In fact, prolonged use was less effective in powerful Sentinels than relaxation exercises. Utilized correctly, of course. Telling Sentinels to ‘breathe through it’ is about as useful as you’d expect.”

_I’m more fucked up than I thought_ , Dean thinks, and a part of him wants to laugh hysterically. He has distinct memories of being told just that: _breathe through it_.

“You said last night that you take Sensinull.”

“You already knew that.”

“Not officially,” Dean watches Cas fidget uncomfortably, “I had guessed, based on some things Sam had said, but I never pried.”

“I didn’t think you did.” Cas is too ethical, too good. He wouldn’t look into someone’s private information.

“Do you mind if I ask what dosage you take?”

“Why?” It doesn’t escape his notice that this is the exact conversation Sam wanted him to have with Cas. He really doesn’t care if Cas knows, but it’s not like Cas is his doctor, so why does it matter?

Cas backs off. “Never mind, that’s none of my business. Call it professional curiosity.”

“No, I don’t care, I just wondered. I think it’s 40 mg? 45? I have the bottle upstairs, but I could go get it.”

Cas's eyes are wide.

Dean sets the pan down with a clatter onto the stovetop. “What now?”

“That’s—uh. That’s a very high dosage.”

Great. That’s just great. “Well, now that we know how incredibly fucked up I am, should we have breakfast? I’ve got eggs and cheese, you want cheesy scrambled eggs?”

Predictably, Cas frowns at Dean’s criticism of himself but says nothing about it. “That sounds wonderful.”

Dean gets busy cooking, but he knows Cas is behind him in the kitchen, a little antsy, and fretting about what to say. Sometimes this Sentinel thing is handy because he can practically see Cas in his mind’s eye. He figures Cas is looking for a way to let him know that really, this is too much for him, that Dean is too much work. It wouldn’t be the first time he was ditched the morning after.

And they didn’t even have sex. Figures.

Cas finally seems to build up his courage as Dean turns to the table with two plates.

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you did something wrong.” Oh, the doctor thing.

“I mean, I kept getting treatment from him. And I took the meds. I take meds now, even. Obviously.”

“It’s absolutely not up to you alone to determine treatment. You trusted your doctor to treat you, and you’re not at fault for it. You should be able to trust your doctor. And your father, to choose a good doctor, at least when you were a child. I certainly hope my patients trust me.”

“Of course they do, you’re an awesome doctor, Cas.” Dean can’t imagine not trusting Cas, of all people.

“Truly, the fact that you’ve been able to come so far in life within the conditions you had available at the time is remarkable.”

He snorts at the admiration in Cas's voice, “Yeah, I’m a special snowflake alright. Alastair would be proud.”

Cas drops his fork. The noise of the tines scraping on the plate as it falls makes Dean wince.

“You okay?”

“Alastair?”

“Yeah?”

“Dr. Alastair White.”

“Yeah, but he went by Dr. Alastair.”

“I’m aware,” he responds faintly. “Dean, he didn’t just have his license revoked for physical abuse. He sexually and mentally abused his patients. He told their parents—”

“That we were faking it, yeah.” Dean’s the one who has to close his eyes now, set down his fork. He’s so fucking tired of all this. “He taught me how to use pain to manage my zones. He taught my dad, too. First, it was long-distance, like a consult with my doctor because we lived so far away, but then we moved closer and he was able to, uh, treat me in person. And lucky us, he was within an hour of Bobby.” He gives the ghost of a smile at Cas, even as he feels a slight burn in his eyes and throat, a sure sign that he might cry at any moment, as he does sometimes when he’s overwhelmed. The smile is a facsimile of happiness that Cas looks somewhat horrified at. Good. Let him see what’s rotten inside of Dean.

“Dean.”

“You can go, Cas. I told you. I told you, I’m no good,” his voice is tight with tears that he’s not going to let escape. He’s not.

***

Castiel is horrified.

He remembers Alastair White’s trial. The man was a sadistic pedophile who used gaslighting techniques to convince his patients and their parents that they were somehow broken, that he knew how to fix it, and that the cure was to hurt themselves in increasingly disturbing ways. Ways that he taught Dean. And his father, it sounds like. One of the children he had been treating was only eight, and Cas remembers her testimony about how he would touch her, attempting to intentionally induce zones with sexual stimulation. One boy said Alastair taught him to use electric shock. Cas thinks he heard that Alastair died in prison last year, and can’t bring himself to feel pity.

Dean considers himself broken. This is why he won’t accept a Guide. This is why he takes a dosage of Sensinull that’s nearly four times the recommended dose. He was taught the beliefs of a psychopath and has been left to his own devices as a kind, _good_ person in order to overcome them. He was never taught what to _do_ with all the extra information his brain takes in, he was never even given a chance. He muddles through and does the best he can, and admittedly, Dean’s best is phenomenal. But he could be so much more than he already is.

For only the second time in Dean’s presence, Castiel purposefully brings his Guide intuition forward. He needs to hug Dean, and he needs to be able to help Dean if it becomes overwhelming. He needs to. His ability to block his own empathy only extends so far, and he’s hit his breaking point.

“I’m going to hug you. And you’re going to let me.”

Dean startles, but he doesn’t push Cas away when Cas pulls Dean’s body close to his own, his arms wrapped tightly around the Sentinel. His intuition tells him that Dean is surprised, but he’s not angry, and in fact, Dean is melting into the hug. His body relaxes under Cas's touch, and his arms wrap up Cas in return. They stand, hugging, for what feels like an eternity, their breathing in sync, heads tucked into each others’ necks.

Cas does his very best to project to Dean how he’s feeling. His astonishment at the person Dean’s become, how he’s overcome his own trauma. He attempts to project his perception of Dean so that Dean can feel it too, the way Cas knows that Dean isn’t rotted inside, the way Cas thinks if he could see what he feels that Dean would glow golden. He projects pleasure at being allowed so close to Dean, and how if Dean would allow him, he would be proud to be bonded to him, this man, who bears scars that he was taught to make and then simply continued, thinking no one was getting hurt but himself, and what does that matter? 

_You matter_ , Cas wants Dean to know. _You matter so much_. _Your pain is not insignificant because you’re not insignificant_.

Dean pulls away, not out of his grasp, but just far enough to look at Cas's face. Cas isn’t crying, but he can feel that his eyes are wetter than usual, and he can see as well as feel the cautious joy because Dean finally is starting to get it. He’s understanding that Cas wants him. 

“Are you sure?” Dean says in a voice low enough that Cas perceives it as a whisper, a breath. “You don’t just feel bad for me; it’s not just because you’re a Guide and I’m a Sentinel, and that’s what’s supposed to happen?”

“Are you fucking—Dean! I love you. I have loved you, probably since the moment we met, on an atomic level, and the more I have learned about you, the more time I have spent with you, Dean Winchester, the more I have fallen in love with you, and if you don’t know that by now—“

Dean interrupts him with a kiss. And it is one hell of a kiss.

Lips, teeth, tongue, there’s nothing held back. Dean’s tongue slips into Cas's mouth, and Cas sucks joyfully, kissing back eagerly, sharing ragged breaths that separate them for moments, but they come back together again and again, and Cas realizes that he’s walked Dean backward, pushed him up against the wall.

Dean doesn’t seem to mind, given the way he keeps pulling Castiel closer, as though he could pull him inside his body—and oh, Castiel wants that, he really really does, but right now, at this moment, he wants Dean, in any form. Their legs fit together, slotting between each other until both of them have their hips against the other’s, and Castiel has never felt need like this before, he needs Dean, is practically climbing him—

“Yes—“ Dean says, between kisses, “please, Cas, I need, unh, please keep—“ his hips grind forward to meet Castiel’s, while his own move toward Dean’s and they both move against each other, feeling the impossible pleasure of being with one another at this moment, their own sensations bouncing back and forth in something like a feedback loop.

Cas sneaks a hand down between their bodies, adding another point of friction for Dean to rub against, and Cas feels the hot line of Dean’s erection through his pajama bottoms. He senses Dean wishing there was _something_ , anything to add friction, and then he moves his hand just so, taking hold of Dean’s erection in as much of a grip he can get while still clothed and strokes once, twice, and Dean shudders against him, his orgasm rippling through Castiel, just an echo, but it might as well be a shockwave to someone like Cas who’s never experienced this with a Sentinel, and never with someone he could feel this acutely, and a moment later his own orgasm brings forth a groan he’s never heard come from his own mouth. Dean is kissing him, but he’s barely kissing back, nearly insensate in the aftermath of what they just experienced, his breath warmly puffing against Dean’s cheek in hot little pants he thinks he’ll be embarrassed about later.

“We should, uh. Shower.” Dean’s voice is a little hoarse, but for once, Cas can sense that he’s content, not over-analyzing, not thinking he’s not good enough, not even working hard to filter the outside world, and Castiel’s eyes are closed, but even if he couldn’t feel Dean’s smile where his mouth is pressed against Cas's temple, he’d know it was there.

“Yes,” Cas pulls himself together, wincing at the feeling in his pants and regretfully distancing himself physically, pulling back from some of what he’s feeling from Dean. He knows he opened himself a little too wide just now, especially without explicitly discussing those limits with Dean. But he can’t make himself regret it. As he pulls away, he feels a wave of dizziness originating from the Sentinel, and he reaches out to steady him before Dean even begins to stumble.

“ _Oof_ ,” Dean makes an apologetic noise, “Sorry about that. Blood rushed to my head, I guess.”

Cas's initial concern fades into a grin, and can’t help but be a little proud of being the cause of Dean’s blood rushing somewhere else.

“Alright, smiley, let’s go,” Dean pulls on Cas's hand that he’s holding, tugging him towards the stairs. “It’s been a while, is all.”

“It’s been a while for me, as well.”

They shower together, the physical closeness helping to make up for Cas having to pull back behind some of Dean’s barriers that he inadvertently pushed past.

Still, even behind those barriers, they’ve made progress. Dean is less afraid to allow physical contact, as demonstrated by the way he’s pushing Cas against the wall of the shower to kiss him nearly senseless.

They’re not bonded, and there are conversations to be had. But now there are far fewer secrets between them.

The next few weeks demonstrate to both of them that they can be something, even without a true Bond. Dean doesn’t mind Cas reading some of the emotions he keeps to himself. He still won’t allow Cas full access, and besides, the Sensinull appears to be working, though Cas is concerned about the high dosage. He’s not sure if researching Sensinull case studies in his spare time is going to upset Dean if he finds out, but he’s a doctor: research into medical issues is what he knows.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a doctor. Heads up for probably inaccurate medical stuff. Just go with it.

Dean doesn’t say anything to Cas, but he’s starting to feel a little off. In a different way than before. He’s still tired, and he’s still feeling sensitive, but he’s also feeling weird. Dizzy, sometimes. Sometimes a little like he can’t catch his breath, and he’s forgotten that he needed to eat until it was well past time for dinner two days in a row. Not his usual “food sounds like too much right now” thing, either. More like he just… doesn’t realize he needs to eat. Isn’t hungry.

There’s one night in particular where he wakes up confused, thinking the pain he’s feeling in his chest must be a heart attack, there’s no other explanation until he hears someone say, “Breathe, Dean!” and as he pulls in a gasping breath, the spots clear and he wonders why he didn’t think of that.

“What happened?” Cas's eyes search Dean’s face in the low moonlight, looking for something, but Dean’s brain is moving through molasses and he can’t figure out what.

“Huh?”

“Was it a dream?”

Was it a dream? Dean doesn’t think he was dreaming anything, actually. Not that he can remember, at least.

“I dunno. Just couldn’t breathe. Felt like I was choking.”

“Has that ever happened before?”

“I don’t think so. That was weird.”

“Do you have your breath back now?”

Has Dean been panting this whole time? He brings his breath back under control. “Yeah. I got it.”

“Do you think you can sleep?” Cas's forehead is doing that thing where it creases in concern, and it warms something inside Dean’s chest.

“Yeah, Cas. I’ll be fine.”

“I can tell when you’re lying, you know.”

Dean screws up his face in a mock glare. “You’re a Guide. That’s cheating.”

“I don’t have to be a Guide to know when you’re lying.”

“Now, I know _that’s_ a lie. I don’t have any tells.”

“Yes, you do.” Dean glares harder at Cas's smug face.

“Then what are they?”

“Hm, I don’t think I’ll share that—” Dean splutters, but Cas continues, “—anyway, are you at least going to try to sleep? It’s four in the morning.”

“I’ll try.”

Dean does try, but he ends up staring at the ceiling, so he thinks _fuck this_ , and gets up to write another five hundred words of his thesis. So at least he’s productive. Cas isn’t pleased in the morning, but he doesn’t say anything, so Dean brushes off the incident.

A few days after that, his nausea comes back. Dean finds himself unable to keep much of anything down, and in the interest of saving his tooth enamel from his stomach acid, he goes back to his mostly liquid diet. Cas is pissed when he finds out.

“You have to eat something.”

“This shake has protein in it!”

“That’s not the same, there’s no fiber. Those things are also filled with chemicals, and they aren’t a good idea long-term.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Can I prescribe you some anti-emetics?”

“What?”

“Anti-nausea medication. It should help.”

“We can try.”

It helps a little bit, but Dean still finds that he would rather not eat.

Dean appreciates that Cas is holding back on being Dr. Novak when he doesn’t feel well. Dean also knows that if Cas knew about more than just the nausea thing, he wouldn’t hesitate to drag Dean’s ass into the hospital for a check-up.

Still, Dean’s worried. What if what’s happening is something serious? What if he’s got some kind of inoperable tumor or cancer or something, and Cas is going to feel obligated to stay with him through the treatment of the illness, and then he’s going to hate Dean because he’s trapped Cas in this relationship.

Yet another reason they shouldn’t bond.

Dean’s aware that he may be grasping at straws here, but _what if_?

He knows that not going to the doctor isn’t going to make this problem go away. And every time he’s reminded of it, there’s another little jolt of panic in his gut that saying _wouldn’t it be better to just know_ but he distracts himself with one of his many avoidance techniques because they’ve worked for him so far, right?

They’ve mostly worked. Dean’s never run so many consecutive miles in his life.

And then of course he manages to get Benny’s attention by spectacularly failing at holding the tree pose, nearly falling all the way to the ground before he catches himself. Benny’s face is clearly telegraphing some alarm because Dean never falls. He _never_ falls. Tree pose is a beginner pose. It’s standing on one leg, and it’s miles below where Dean is able to perform when he’s feeling better.

Benny makes him sit on his mat for the rest of the class. And then he threatens to call Cas. Dean puts him off semi-successfully, though he knows his friend is still worried, and Benny only lets him go after giving him a quick check of his balance and coordination. Dean knows he’s not up to par, but he reminds Benny that he’s a Sentinel with unpredictable patterns. Benny doesn’t look convinced.

On the following Tuesday, Dean’s got his 101 class. Which is filled with freshmen, finally settled into campus and university life now they’re in their second semester. Dean likes teaching the second semester better. The first semester is filled with kids whose high school teachers had told them all shit like, “You’re not going to be able to get away with this in college!” Dean has always found this hilarious. Only in college will you encounter a professor who decides your final exam will be getting a drink at the bar off-campus. 

His intro to engineering class has about fifty students in it, and attendance isn’t mandatory but he gives extra credit for it. Most of his students come to every lecture; he’s got about five or so that skip at least once a week, but for the most part, this smaller lecture hall is pretty full. He likes this room; its desks are actually long tables, and they’re on risers so everyone can see, and more importantly, he can see everyone. 

At the moment, they’re watching a video. They just got to the section in the course where they talk about mechanical engineering and Dean likes that he can talk about it with a little more expertise than he can structural or civil engineering. 

Dean’s sitting on the desk at the front of the room, watching his students while they watch the end of the five-minute video about the role of mechanical engineers in the automotive industry. Most are paying attention, though there are at least two in the back who think they’re being sneaky with a single earbud in. They’re staring at their own computer screen rather than the projector, and he can see the reflection of one of their screens in the kid’s glasses. At least it’s not porn, that’d be awkward for everyone.

The video comes to an end and Dean grabs for the remote that shuts down the video system. “Get the lights?” he raises his voice to the kids in the back near the door and one of them obediently gets up to flick on the overhead lighting. He jumps to his feet just as the lights flicker on.

The room spins.

“Woah,” he attempts to steady himself on his feet, grabbing at the table behind him, anything, but black spots are swimming in front of his eyes; this feels different from a zone, this feels wrong, and weird, and he doesn’t even know where his feet are, much less the ground. He finds it a second later when his knees buckle. He hits his head on something solid and registers the jarring bounce, but can’t really feel now, what his mind tells him is going to hurt later.

There’s a dull roar that he can sort of make out to be voices all overlapping and he catches some snippets but it all just sounds like noise to him.

“—call 911—”

“Mr. Winchester!”

“Is he okay?”

“Is he breathing?” _Oh,_ his brain shares with him, _breathing, you probably forgot about it again—_

“Oh my god, is he dead?”

There’s chaos happening around him, and Dean can’t do anything but lay on the ground, stunned. The blackness creeps in around his vision, so he closes his eyes, and it’s almost like the room goes with it. He has no sense of anything, he has no idea if there are people around him, or if he’s warm, or cold, or bleeding. Maybe he’s just floating in space, not even a person anymore, he’s just a brain floating away. Maybe he is dying.

_Maybe I’ll just take a quick nap, just tired, it’ll pass._

***

Castiel is standing at the nurses’ station distractedly flipping through the new patient files, attempting to organize them in his head into levels of severity based on their initial triage. There are none that appear to be surgical immediately, though there is a man with a broken foot who may need it repaired before it’s casted. That calls for ortho, however, and that is not necessarily his specialty. He has a bit of a headache and considers taking a quick break to locate some ibuprofen when the phone at the station rings. 

The nurse answers the phone, the line that Castiel knows is the one ambulances use when they’re bringing in a new patient, and he tenses in anticipation waiting as patiently as possible for the patient details the nurse will have.

“Possible head trauma, collapsed while teaching,” she relays the information to Castiel, and he’s off towards the ambulance bay, snagging a smock on his way. He turns when he sees one of the ER doctors, Tessa Graves so that she can tie the back of his gown. The nurse at the door, Alfie, is ready to put gloves on him, and they all look simultaneously to the doors when they hear the siren of the approaching ambulance.

Something makes Castiel pause where he normally wouldn’t, but he gives himself half a second to shake it off and approaches the ambulance doors. The moment the doors have been opened, the paramedic is relaying all pertinent information to Tessa.

“...male, 30 years old. His students said he collapsed right after standing up, hit his head on the way down, couldn't rouse him. BP is holding steady, pulse ox was 84 twelve minutes ago, but we intubated and it’s now 95. GCS of 3, no known medical conditions.”

“Name?”

Castiel already knows his name. He’d know this man in a crowded room with his eyes closed and suddenly he can’t breathe.

“Dean Winchester.”

Castiel forces himself up to the gurney, to help get this man, his boyfriend, his Sentinel into the hospital, and adds pertinent information as they move him into a trauma bay.

“Tessa,” he gets his coworker’s attention, and she nods at him to speak while she’s checking over the chart she’s been handed as they rush the gurney into the bay, “he’s a Sentinel. He’s prescribed a high dose of Sensinull; he takes it daily. Alfie!” He calls out to the nurse he knows is nearby, and sure enough, he’s ready to collect Dean’s information. “His brother will be his emergency contact, his name is Sam Winchester,” he gives Alfie his phone, “his number is in here, please call him.” Alfie quickly walks to a quieter part of the hallway to make the call, phone already to his ear.

“You know him?”

“He’s my—” _Sentinel_ , Cas wants to say, “—boyfriend, we’re dating.”

“Shit. You can’t be on this case.”

“I know, I’ll stay until someone can take over, but—”

“Castiel, you can’t be in here—”

“—Tessa, he needs a Guide, he’s in a zone—”

“I’ll get his levels and I’ll call one—”

“No,” he doesn’t want another Guide touching Dean, not when he knows how Dean is already going to hate that he’s in the hospital, and so many strangers are going to be touching him, “I’m a Guide, I can take care of him.”

Tessa is visibly surprised at the news that he’s a Guide, her eyebrows raising at the news, but recovers quickly. “You’re—”

“Yes.”

“Well, shit, do your thing.” She moves around the bed, still holding the Ambu bag that’s breathing for Dean, and Cas relocates so that he’s on Dean’s left side near his head, the farthest from the door.

Castiel’s never had to Guide a Sentinel in a trauma situation, so he does what he can to initiate skin contact. He’s able to place his hands on Dean’s shoulders after Tessa clears his c-spine, removes the collar, and turns his head to face Castiel somewhat, revealing a contusion on the right side of Dean’s skull. Meanwhile, Castiel breathes deeply, attempting to tune out the background noise from himself, and focus on the input Dean is receiving.

Castiel feels like he has to push through slow-moving smoke clouding Dean’s senses. He furrows his brow in some confusion but continues onward, reaching for that moment he can connect with the Sentinel.

He finds him. Castiel reaches out to touch that flickering golden light being smothered by noxious smoke and finally makes his connection. Once again, Castiel is overwhelmed by all Dean is feeling behind that smoke.

Through Dean, Castiel registers a high-pitched whine accompanied by a great deal of beeping that he recognizes as a choir of life support machines. He’s dimly aware of Balthazar entering the room to assist Tessa, news having presumably reached him of who Cas was treating. He’s aware of people moving around him and Dean, but he’s also somewhat aware of the attention that he and Dean are receiving; it’s not every day one of your staff Guides a Sentinel with head trauma, he supposes.

He turns them down. He goes round and round, dialing down the switches, pushing away the smoke that wants to overwhelm him, smoke that was not nearly this pervasive the last time Castiel was forced to Guide Dean back from a zone. He turns down the sounds, the smells, the awareness of so many bodies around Dean, and brings him back, but slowly, slowly. He opens his eye and finds himself nearly nose to nose with Dean, his endotracheal tube somewhat in the way.

Dean’s eyes widen, and rather than the slow return to his senses he experienced that afternoon in Dean’s office, Castiel witnesses the panic blossom behind the Sentinel’s eyes, sees Dean try to jerk away, but he maintains contact with him, holding him firm and speaking in a low voice.

“Dean, you’re okay, you’re in the hospital. You collapsed in your classroom, you were in a zone. You’ve got a tube down your throat to help you breathe, and I know it’s not comfortable, but I need you to stay calm, okay?”

“Cassie, do you know what dosage he was on? How long he’s been taking it?” Balthazar is drawing blood. A nurse behind him is readying some sort of testing strip, and Castiel realizes what they’re checking, and knows that Balthazar’s thinking is leading him to the right conclusion. How could he have missed this?

“He told me five years, but his dosage was recently increased to 45 mg daily. Dean, did you take your medication today?”

Dean nods in confirmation, eyes beginning to droop.

“Dean, I need you to try to stay awake for me.” Dean nods slightly, visibly making an effort to focus on Castiel. “Do you know how long you’ve been taking the higher dose?” Dean gives another slight nod and then points weakly at Castiel, who stares back, nonplussed. “Dean?”

Dean simply gestures at him again, and Castiel understands. 

“Since we met?” Dean shakes his head. “After?” A nod. 

Since Castiel showed up, Dean’s senses probably became even more imbalanced, as they do when a highly compatible Guide is near. It’s biological, they practically reach out to the Guide, as though they’re sentient. They _want_ the connection.

Dean’s been taking a high dose of Sensinull for months. Dean doesn’t get regular blood work, and the medication has been building up toxicity within Dean, and if it reaches a certain point, Dean will experience symptoms of autonomic nervous system collapse and has almost certainly been experiencing dysfunction for some time.

Dean waking up, unable to breathe.

Dean at yoga, unable to hold a simple pose.

Dean, bumping into doorways, tripping over his own feet, getting dizzy at sudden movements. Cas nearly pulls away from Dean when the realization hits. How did he miss those clear signs? 

He stays physically connected to the Sentinel while he watches the blood test result in a positive. Toxicity present for Sensinull.

“Cassie,” Balthazar interrupts Cas's self-admonition, “do we need to move him to a Sentinel safe room?”

“That would be best. Dean hasn’t used his full abilities for many years, but they’re very powerful—” he gets a muffled protest from Dean, but he’s unfortunately familiar with Dean’s dislike of his abilities being categorized as _powerful_ so he ignores him “—and once the Sensinull is out of his system he’s going to struggle.” A nurse nods, leaving the room to make the arrangements to move Dean into one of the SSRs. Specially insulated against excessive noise and given an isolated filtration system to minimize scents, the rooms even have linens made with specialized fabric designed to be less irritating to a Sentinel’s sensitive skin. They aren’t perfect, but they tend to make a Sentinel’s stay in the hospital as tolerable as possible.

Tessa must prod a place in his contusion that’s sensitive, as Dean winces against Cas's palm pressed gently to the side of his face, and a wave of pain echoes across Castiel’s senses. He attempts to send soothing feelings back to Dean, reassuring him that everything is going to be okay, Castiel will make sure of it.

“You’re still not Bonded, correct?” Balthazar has a syringe in his hand, and announces to the nurse and Tessa, “Pushing epi.” He depresses the plunger of the syringe into Dean’s IV, the first step in increasing Dean’s alertness, not allowing his nervous systems to collapse, keeping him on high alert.

“No.” 

There’s another wave of something like pain and an almost silent whine from Dean, though this time it’s less to do with Tessa cleaning his head wound and more in response to the line of questioning. Castiel knows that Dean experiences a great deal of internal struggle related to the issue of Bonding, and Castiel wishes that he could solve the problem for him.

Dean is still sluggish, though the epinephrine has woken him some, and he visibly objects to Castiel’s removal when an orderly attempts to have Castiel move in order to get Dean to his new room. Cas glares at the orderly, stubbornly attaching himself back to Dean’s forearm, attempting to remain in contact with the Sentinel, mitigating the sensory input he knows will be extreme post-zone while reassuring Dean that he won’t be going anywhere.

He remains in contact with Dean all the way up to the third floor where the two rooms dedicated to housing Sentinels are located, only separating briefly when they have to shift Dean onto the new bed.

Thanks to the epinephrine, Balthazar indicates that Dean is breathing independently. Castiel remains with Dean through the process of extubation, offering him a sip of water when he coughs harshly after the removal. All around him people bustle, settling Dean into the room as a well-oiled machine. Castiel himself assists the nurse into changing Dean into a Sentinel hospital gown, helping a protesting Dean sit up and helping him slip his arms into the gown, mindful of his IV line and the nasal cannula being fitted into Dean’s nose. As he helps him change he can feel Dean’s own insecurities about the scarring from his self-harm. It’s nothing Cas hasn’t seen before, but Dean’s never shown these scars to anyone he wasn’t intimate with before this.

Mercifully, Dean’s only real injury is the mild concussion he received when he fell to the ground, and when he’s settled back into his hospital bed, Balthazar speaks up to address Dean’s opposition to staying in the hospital as the excess personnel leaves the room, leaving the three of them alone.

“Dean, your blood work shows that you’ve been taking a dangerous dosage of Sensinull, which is depressing your autonomic nervous system, which causes shortness of breath, dizziness, loss of balance, and reduced reaction to external stimulants.” Balthazar is blunt, and as usual, Castiel appreciates it. Dean glances at Castiel and then looks away, which is all Castiel needs to confirm his suspicion that he’s experienced at least some of those symptoms.

“Dean?” Castiel prompts him. “It will help us—” Balthazar clears his throat and Castiel amends his statement, knowing he won’t be allowed to treat Dean, “—it will help Dr. Roche treat you.”

“Yeah, uh.” Dean is sheepish, feeling guilty about hiding his symptoms from Cas. Castiel tempers his own reaction with the knowledge that Dean will be aware of it so that it comes across as concern for Dean without the tinge of anger Castiel feels about his Sentinel hiding from him. “All of those. My balance has been off for about a week or so? Dizziness, breathing is weird. All that.” He’s quiet for a moment while Balthazar enters the information into his notes. “So basically I poisoned myself.”

“Unknowingly, I’m sure. Who’s your prescribing physician? I’d like to have you sign a release so they can send their records of your regular blood work.”

Castiel, still in physical contact with Dean, probably would have felt the shame from the Sentinel even if he was across the room. Whatever Dean is about to say isn’t easy for him.

“Azazel Gelbman, his number should be in my phone—” Dean cuts himself off and looks concerned at Castiel, probably because of the choking noise Castiel belatedly realizes he released, “Cas, you okay?”

Azazel Gelbman. The man’s name had been mentioned often during Alastair White’s trial, having been the general physician for many of the children Alastair preyed on, but there was never anything concrete on him that was ever brought forward, as far as he knows. He knew the man was practicing still, but he hadn’t ever encountered one of the man’s patients. There were rumors, of course, that Gelbman was one of those who prescribed Oxycontin like candy, that if you needed a doctor to overlook certain conditions or sign a waiver without a visit, Gelbman was the one to call. But they were all rumors, nothing substantiated. Castiel met the man himself once at a pharmaceutical dinner, and it’s safe to say that Gelbman is everything Castiel hates in a doctor. All Castiel could do was have him removed from their list of suggested medical providers in the area. And to find out that Dean is his patient? 

Castiel should have asked, he should have found out who was prescribing the outrageously high dosage of such a controlled medication, he should have followed up on Dean’s health, but he didn’t want to push too far, he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. But for the sake of Dean’s health, he should have. And now Dean’s in the hospital because Castiel didn’t notice that Dean was spiraling.

“Cas?” Dean obviously feels the way his grip has tightened on Dean’s forearm, so Castiel works to relax, loosens his grip though he still keeps a firm hold.

“My apologies, Dean—”

“Are you—”

Both of them stop when Balthazar interrupts them, and Castiel can tell he’s not pleased by the information either. “We can locate his number. Was that the only thing he prescribed you?”

“It’s the only medication I take besides over the counter pain stuff sometimes. He’s given me a prescription for like, Xanax before, but I didn’t like the way it made me feel so I don’t take it.”

Xanax and Sensinull? Is the man willfully trying to kill his patients?

Balthazar clearly is thinking along the same lines if the frown on his face is anything to go by. “That would be for the best, Dean. Sensinull doesn’t tend to play nicely with Xanax, to say the least.” He makes more notations in his chart and then addresses them once more. “Castiel, is he out of danger for another zone?”

Castiel brings his attention to Dean’s senses. They’re all toned down still from his intervention, and should remain that way for some time, even without Castiel nearby. He nods to Balthazar.

“Excellent. If you could give Dean and me about ten minutes, I’d like to do an exam. Why don’t you see if you can locate Sam? I imagine he’s already here somewhere, causing a ruckus about seeing his brother. Perhaps see if anyone from the university has inquired about Dean’s status?”

Castiel doesn’t want to go. “Dean, maybe I should—”

“Cas, it’s okay. I feel a lot better, he’s not gonna send me into another zone or anything. Find Sam?” Castiel nods and cautiously withdraws his hand from Dean’s arm. When Dean doesn’t react beyond an encouraging smile, he reluctantly leaves Dean’s hospital room with a mission to find where Alfie has gone with his cell phone so he can locate Sam and fill him in on what’s happened. 


	13. Chapter 13

“Well, now that Cassie’s gone, shall we begin?”

Dean glares tiredly at Balthazar. The man is fucking obnoxious as hell, but Cas has mentioned before that Balthazar is a good doctor, so he allows him to help Dean swing his legs around so that he’s sitting upright on the side of the bed. Balthazar’s evaluation confirms the other doctor’s—a mild concussion, the loss of consciousness was more because Dean forgot to keep breathing and fell into a zone.

Balthazar’s evaluation is professional and thorough. There’s already a bandage covering his minor head wound, so he checks over Dean’s reflexes—slow, but that’s to be expected, he explains. He has Dean take the gown off the top half of his body and lie back on the bed so he can check Dean’s ribs and stomach. He listens to Dean breathe, and Dean sees the moment Balthazar notices the scarring on his hips. Dean’s a Sentinel. He hears the tiny catch of breath and his sharp eyes easily spot the way Balthazar's gaze lingers on the cigarette burns and parallel lines for a moment too long, but the doctor doesn’t say anything.

Gelbman never says anything about them except to mention that it’s good that Dean is continuing to employ Alastair’s strategies. And that Dean does a good job taking care of them; the scarring is pretty minimal compared to what Dean’s seen online.

Balthazar doesn’t say anything as he continues Dean’s exam, either, though every revealed area of scarring makes Dean’s face burn in shame. The lines on Dean’s inner thighs, the scratches and faded pink lines on the insides of his wrists, the obvious burn scars littered randomly around his body. After he finishes checking all of his joints down to his ankles—a fresh line from just two days ago is scabbed over, Dean didn’t even put a bandage on this morning—he tells Dean softly that he can put the gown back on. Dean does so, still feeling a bit clumsy, especially with the cannula tube and the IV getting in the way, but he manages it.

It’s not until he pulls the wheeled stool over to Dean’s bedside to review everything with him that he brings it up.

“So. Seems like overall, your reaction rates are slow, especially for where a Sentinel should be. Besides a couple of bumps and bruises from your fall and being visibly underweight, you’ve also obviously been suffering from the effects of Sensinull building toxicity within your system, and we need to address that immediately. I’d like to monitor you for the next few hours to see that it will degrade, and if it’s at a satisfactory level, we’ll simply wait until it’s out of your system.”

“And if it’s not?”

“We’ll know in the next few hours, but if not then I would like to see about counteracting the Sensinull with another medication, or else we can use dialysis to attempt to remove it from your blood.”

“So I have to stay.”

“I would strongly advise it. I also strongly advise that you stop taking Sensinull.”

Dean feels nauseated at the very idea. Sensinull gets him through his day, he has no idea what his day looks like without it. “So I have to take sedatives again.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sedatives. Before Sensinull I took some kind of sedative so I didn’t react to shit.”

“When was this?”

“I dunno. It got bad when I was twelve? Maybe thirteen? My school made my old man take me to the doctor, and he’s the one who gave ‘em to me, and then Dr. Gelbman kept doing the same prescription after we’d moved and I needed a new prescriber. Took ‘em until Sensinull was released, and Gelbman gave me that instead. Way better.”

Balthazar frowns in apparent disapproval, and his disdain is clear when he says, “You’ve had some misguided doctors in your life. The last time sedatives were approved for use in treatment of hypersensitivity in Sentinels was nearly thirty years ago.”

Yeah, Cas had mentioned something like that. Still doesn’t make him feel any better.

“They worked okay, though. And I need something, man, I can’t go back to seizures and zones every day again.” He can’t help the pleading tone that's entered his voice, but he can’t do it again. He can’t live like that.

“Trust me when I say that they’re not as helpful as you’re thinking. I have a specialist in mind for you, she’s managed some minor miracles in helping Sentinels who struggle with control.”

Dean snorts. He’s never had good control. Isn’t that what his dad told him? That’s what Alastair was trying to treat him for, it’s the whole reason he had to take Sensinull. And now he’s not even allowed that. Cas will ditch him for sure, now. He might as well check into the Z-ward tonight.

“In addition, I’d like to talk to you about your self-inflicted injuries.” Balthazar’s tone doesn’t change, but his face gentles into something mild.

Dean’s embarrassment increases tenfold. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It looks like you use some kind of razor or knife to cut yourself in sensitive but hidden areas. It also looks like you’ve used some kind of heat—a lighter or matches if I had to guess— to burn yourself, though a few older ones look like cigarette burns. It looks like you’ve treated your injuries fairly well, I’ll give you that. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

Dean didn’t expect him to be so spot-on with his observations, but Balthazar continues to watch him with a look on his face that expects some kind of response. Dean decides if it’s all gonna come out in the open it might as well _all_ come out, and besides, Cas already knows some of this part, and so does Sam. Who is he really protecting, here?

Dean gives himself one moment to take a deep breath. He’s about to spill secrets he’s been keeping for half his life, he thinks he deserves the chance to take a moment. “Do you know who Alastair White is?”

Balthazar’s surprise is evident, and he understands immediately what Dean is telling him, though, to his credit, he confirms it. “Are you saying he was your doctor?”

“Yeah. He consulted with my old doctor, and then we moved so I could see him face to face. Turned out he lived right by our old hometown.”

“How old were you?”

“We moved when I was fourteen. Saw him until the summer after I turned eighteen, ‘cause I moved away to go to college. Turned out to be good timing, he was arrested like the next year. I started seeing Gelbman right when I stopped seeing Alastair.” Dean clears his throat awkwardly. This is not a conversation he’s ever had to have with someone, and he really doesn’t want to have it now. But he needs Balthazar to understand. “I don’t do it because I wanna kill myself or anything, you gotta know that. Alastair taught me to use pain to distract myself from zoning, and the burning and the cutting worked the best out of everything he tried.”

“What else did he try?”

What didn’t he try? “It doesn’t matter.” Scratching was too mild. It was too noticeable when he hit himself because even if the bruises were under clothing, it turned out other people got worried seeing bruised and scratched knuckles. John used his fists or a belt to pull Dean from his zones, so they restricted hitting to John’s use only. Pinching worked to a point, even still. Electric shock was effective in making a zone stop, but whenever Alastair used it Dean nearly passed out, so it was discarded as an option. Cutting was Alastair’s favorite, and he often held his hand over the top of Dean’s while he held the blade, encouraging him to press deeper, take the line further.

No one ever needs to know any of that.

Balthazar doesn’t speak for several moments, and Dean follows his lead. He’s not sure where they go at this point. He’s not sure he can stop it, not anymore.

“How do you know when a zone is going to happen?”

He’s been feeling confused about this part ever since that night Cas saw him do it for the first time. Not that Cas knows he’s continued. Not that they’ve talked about it. “Cas says you can’t actually tell. That Sentinels don’t know when a zone is happening.”

“Correct. What I want to know is what symptoms you’ve experienced that lead you to think you’re about to zone, and tell you to hurt yourself.”

“It’s just a feeling.”

“Can you describe it to me?”

“I dunno. I get all, like, cold? My hands and feet sometimes tingle, but sometimes it’s my face.” He stops, suddenly considering who he’s talking to. “You’re not gonna tell Cas, are you?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality, Dean. He won’t hear it from me, and he won’t be looking at our session notes. But he’s a doctor and a Guide. Seems like he might be _your_ Guide. Don’t you think he should know?”

“He’s not my Guide.” It’s almost painful to say it, no matter how true it is.

The skeptical look Balthazar gives him takes no prisoners, but he lets it go. “Regardless. He won’t hear it from me. Are there any other triggers?’

“Triggers?”

“The things that tell you that you need to hurt yourself.”

Right. Dean closes his eyes to remember why he cut his ankle two days ago. “I guess sometimes my heart beats really fast? It’s hard to breathe, sometimes. Everything becomes too much—”

“You mean your senses?”

“Yeah. Everything’s too loud, too crazy. It helps when I cut, it like, refocuses.”

Balthazar hums and makes another note on the iPad in his hands, then asks what feels like a pretty random question to Dean.

“How’s your appetite? You’re a bit underweight, and I would bet you have a few vitamin deficiencies we’ll come across when the entire blood panel comes back.”

“Nonexistent. I get nauseous when I eat.”

“Do you ever have hyper- or hyposensitive episodes?” When Dean nods, Balthazar follows up. “How long do they last?”

“I dunno. All day, ish? I don’t usually check the clock.” Another frown from Balthazar, and Dean’s starting to get a little bit frustrated with the doctor for asking these random-ass questions. “Why?”

“I’d like to get these screening questions out of the way.”

“Screening for what?”

Balthazar looks up at him, evidently surprised. “It’s a standard Sentinel progress check, it’s mandatory at each visit in this state. I was going to compare it to your previous checks to look for changes—”

“I hate to break it to you, but there aren’t gonna be previous checks. I ain’t ever filled this thing out in my life.”

“You never—what?”

“These questions. Gelbman doesn’t ask me any of this shit.” Dean’s pretty sure he’d remember being asked a bunch of random questions. Gelbman’s never asked about his appetite or his _episodes_ before.

His doctor is clearly taken aback. “I’d like to amend my previous statement. You’ve had some truly terrible doctors. No one has ever gone over this with you?”

“No.” Dean is so fucked. How did he not know any of this?

“Oh.” Balthazar’s face shuffles through several emotions, trying to mask how concerned he is, but it’s like his concern is leaking out past it. It would almost be funny if it didn’t mean Dean is absolutely fucked. “Well. It’s a quick progress check. You’re supposed to do them each visit, no less than four times per year in order to monitor the progression of physical and emotional symptoms for Sentinels. There’s also a Guide version. May I continue?”

Dean’s brain is reeling. Four times per year? Dean sees Gelbman once a year at most. “Uh, yeah. Keep going, I guess.”

“Do you ever feel hopeless? Like nothing even matters, so why even bother?”

Dean’s first instinct is to lie, but he squashes it. He’s already come this far. But he can’t look at Balthazar anymore. He closes his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Do you often feel like you have no energy, or feel tired?”

“I guess. I mean, I usually keep going anyway.”

“What do you mean, ‘keep going?’”

“Like, I’ll still go for a run, I’ll still go workout or go to work or whatever. I ignore it. After you’ve taken sedatives for half your life you get pretty used to being tired.”

“I suppose you would get used to it. How often do you exercise?”

“Every day.”

“What forms of exercise do you do?”

“Mostly I run. I take yoga classes a few times a week.”

“I’d wager you excel at yoga. You have advanced proprioceptive abilities, even now. They’re most likely outstanding when you’re not being poisoned.”

“Advanced what now?”

“Proprioception. It’s your ability to know where your body is in space. It’s why we don’t trip when we walk with our eyes closed; we still know where our feet are. Sentinels have an advanced sense of this. Your balance is probably excellent. Well,” he amends, “excellent when you’re not being poisoned by your medication. I’d bet you can tell when someone is near you, can almost picture exactly what they’re doing in your head.”

Dean can do that. He just never realized other people couldn’t. He nods. Balthazar continues asking him about his exercise routine, and when Dean tells him he runs every day, he wants to know how far he goes.

“I dunno, dude. I go for about an hour or so and then I go home.”

“Every day.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Even on days you go to yoga? You don’t have a rest day?”

“Dude, I said every day, didn’t I?” Dean knows from Benny that you’re supposed to have a rest day or two every week, but he figures if he runs one day in the morning and the next at night, it’s almost like he had a day and a half between runs. So no. No rest days.

Balthazar makes another note, brow furrowed. He looks exactly like Benny did when he tried to tell Dean he was overdoing it and taped his shin splints. He starts to get defensive, but the next question throws him off entirely.

“Do you ever have thoughts of suicide?”

Dean stops breathing. How does he answer that question without ending up in a psych ward? Dean scoffs to himself, he's probably gonna end up in a psych ward by the end of the night anyway, might as well go all in.

“Yeah,” he feels a little defensive of his answer, and can’t stop himself from asking, “I mean, doesn’t everyone, sometimes?”

“Sometimes. Have you ever made plans?”

Has he ever made plans? He’s thought about methods, but he’s never made a plan, never exactly penciled it into his calendar. “What exactly do you mean?”

“It’s the difference between ideation and intention.”

“Oh. Then, uh. No.” Balthazar gives another nod at Dean’s answer, typing even more information. Dean really wants to know what it is. “What do you keep typing?”

“Patient notes. I’m not on shift all the time, any doctor on your case needs to know pertinent information.”

“And how much I work out is pertinent?”

“It might be. We never know what will be helpful.” He considers Dean. “Are you worried about Castiel reading it?”

Dean shrugs. He’s not really sure.

“As a doctor in this hospital, Castiel has access to patient files. But I think you know as well as I do that he would never look at those files without express permission.”

Dean nods. Cas wouldn’t even let Sam bitch about Dean’s medication to him, not after he realized private information was being shared.

There’s a few moments of silence with Balthazar looking down at his tablet and Dean looking at his hands in his lap.

“Would you like my professional opinion? Bearing in mind that most of my experience with Sentinels has been with weaker ones than you, or has been entirely based on research studies.”

Dean skates past the implication of him being a strong Sentinel. He’s got no evidence to support that, no matter what Cas says. “Yeah, okay. Go for it.”

“You have anxiety. You have regular panic attacks, and you’ve been taught that these are zones and can be controlled with pain. You also have mild to moderate depression, which has been exacerbated by the use of sedatives and Sensinull. These things, combined with your overactive senses, have inadvertently led to symptoms and behaviors that present as an eating disorder, similar to anorexia.”

Dean tries to protest—he doesn’t have an eating disorder! He eats, or he tries to, at least. Balthazar stalls him by holding up a hand.

“I’m not saying you have an eating disorder. You’re not anorexic, you don’t actually meet the requirements, as you’re not purposefully restricting yourself due to your body image. Food causes you sensory discomfort or nausea, so you don’t take in enough calories to cover what you’re burning with the amount of exercise you do. And frankly, the amount of running you’re doing isn’t healthy. If you’re not experiencing joint pain yet, you will soon.

“I have a plan in mind for you, but I want to wait until we can get your toxicity under control. And I’d like to review what records Dr. Gelbman has. The only thing I want you to do in the meantime is to consider meeting with Dr. Pamela Barnes.” 

“Who’s that?”

“She’s the specialist I mentioned. If you’re willing to meet with her I can have it set up. I’d like her to work with us on your case.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Dean is saved from answering by the entrance of his giant of a little brother and his—well. His Cas.

“Dean!” Sam rushes towards him, the worry clear in every line of his body. Dean knows Cas will have done his best to calm Sam down, but he also knows that Sam wouldn’t be able to relax until he saw Dean with his own eyes. He gets it. He’d be the same if the roles were reversed.

“Hey, Sammy. I’m okay, I promise.”

Balthazar scoffs. “No, you’re not. But you will be. Let me know about Dr. Barnes?”

“I will.”

Balthazar leaves, and Dean is left alone with Sam and Cas. Sam can’t leave anything alone, of course, so he immediately pipes up. 

“Who’s Dr. Barnes?”

“Some kind of expert in Sentinels. Balthazar wants me to meet with her.”

Castiel nods, “That’s not a bad idea. She’ll have some insights that it would be impossible for us to have.”

“Cas, you didn’t have to ask Balthazar to be my doctor. Anyone would’ve been fine.”

“I didn’t, actually. He showed up while I was Guiding you in the trauma bay.”

“You were in a zone?” Sam’s being nosy, as usual, but Dean figures he’s been through enough worry today, he might as well put his brother out of his misery.

“Yeah. Turns out you were right to worry about the Sensinull, I guess. I was taking too much. It builds up, or somethin’. Turns out the dizzy spells and balance issues I’ve been havin’ were the side effects.”

“I didn’t know you were having issues.” Sam looks at Cas, accusing. “Did you know?”

“I was beginning to suspect, but no. Dean—”

“Didn’t want you to worry,” Dean interrupts Cas, already knowing the question he wants to ask. Cas and Sam make nearly identical stink faces, but before they can respond he changes the subject. “Anyone call Bobby?”

“I called him after I talked to Cas. Turns out he already knew you’d been taken away in an ambulance. I guess your class was freaking out, but someone had the forethought to call him since his number is listed on your syllabus.”

“God,” Dean kind of laughs to himself. What kind of nerds does he have in his class that their teacher collapses and they think to check the fucking syllabus?

“He’s probably gonna come marching down here the moment he’s done teaching for the day, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Tell me what happened? What did the doctor say? Do you have to stay?”

“We were watchin’ a video, and when it ended I had one of the kids in the back turn on the lights. Only, I hopped up off the desk at the same time the lights went on. After that, it’s kinda fuzzy, but I woke up here with a hell of a headache, a tube down my throat, and Blue Eyes here all up in my grill. Been a hell of an afternoon, but I swear I’m feeling alright now. Better than I have in a while, actually.”

It’s true, really. He’s worried about life off of Sensinull, and he’s not really sure what that other shit Balthazar said means for him (anxiety and depression? A fucking pseudo-eating disorder?), but right at the moment, everything’s okay.

“What did the doctor say?”

Castiel looks uncomfortable for a moment and then offers to leave the room. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I understand if you don’t want to share that—”

“Cas, it’s fine. You should probably know all this shit anyway.” Cas nods and relaxes somewhat, but his eyes never leave Dean, expectant. They settle into the chairs that are pushed against the wall in Dean’s room and Dean gives them the short version.

“Uh, so, Balthazar said they’re gonna keep me here until at least tomorrow, it sounds like. They’re gonna see if I can just stop taking Sensinull and let the uh, toxic thing—”

“—toxicity,” Cas supplies.

“—yeah, that. Toxicity. They wanna see if that clears up on its own. If it doesn’t, he wants to do dialysis. And, uh.” He rubs his forehead a bit. His headache is starting to make its presence known. “I dunno. He wants me to talk to a specialist. He thinks I might have anxiety and depression.” He’s a little embarrassed by the whole thing, honestly, and it’s probably a good thing he’s too tired to argue with the doctor after all the commotion.

His dad would’ve had a conniption fit about those words. Anxiety and depression were not in John Winchester’s vocabulary.

Sam doesn’t seem as surprised as Dean would like him to be, he just nods, like those are worth his serious consideration. And Cas kind of already knew about the anxiety thing having mentioned it that time in Dean’s bedroom. Depression, though? Dean’s pretty sure that’s just him being a shitty human. Still, Dean wants to know what he’s thinking.

“You got any words of wisdom here, doc? What should I do?” Dean forces himself to paste on a smile, give Cas a wink. Anything to ease the tension he’s feeling. It must work a little bit because Cas's frown twitches into something approximating a smile.

“I don’t want to overstep—”

“Not overstepping. I asked you.”

“Alright. I think you should see Dr. Barnes. She’s well respected in her field.”

Dean’s pretty sure he was going to anyway. “Okay. I’ll see her.”

“I can let Balthazar know.” He pulls out his phone and types a quick message, fingers making sweeping gestures over the screen. Dean will never understand how Cas uses that swipe keyboard instead of typing like a normal person.

Dean must fall asleep soon after that because when he opens his eyes again Sam is gone and Bobby is sitting in his chair.

“You damn idjit.”

“Bobby—”

“—Ellen’s gonna kick my ass when she hears about this.” Dean laughs but stops immediately when Bobby adds, “She’ll kick yours, too. What the hell were you thinking?”

Dean looks to Cas for help, but the Guide is gone.

“He got a call, had to go do his job.”

Dean’s cheeks heat up, he didn’t realize it was that obvious he was looking for Cas. When Bobby just stares at him, Dean can’t take it anymore. “What!”

“You know what. Why didn’t you tell anyone you were havin’ a hard time?”

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t want anyone to worry, huh? Guess what? Everyone’s worried, boy. Dammit, I knew somethin’ was up at that barbecue.”

“Huh?”

“At your party: somethin’ was wrong.”

Dean remembers. Nothing stands out to him, except Bobby and Ellen getting a little too demanding about Cas. “What do you mean?”

“You looked like hell. Better’n you do now, but not by much. And you were pining something fierce over Castiel.”

“I was not!”

“You still are.”

“We’re together now, I can’t pine over someone I’m dating.”

“So you’re bonded?”

Dean shoots Bobby an angry look. Not this again. “You know I can’t—”

“I know you _can_ , but you’re too scared to do anything. Not since those last two screwed you up. I don’t even know what happened with the other ones you were dating, but you ain’t been able to trust anyone right, not since Amara.”

“I trust Cas.”

“If you trusted Cas, you’d be bonded by now.”

Dean shakes his head. “He doesn’t know everything. He still thinks the sun shines outta my ass or something.”

“Have you told him about Amara and Lisa?”

Dean squirms under Bobby’s stern gaze. “It hasn’t come up?”

“Boy, I swear. Talk to him. I don’t think he’s going anywhere.” Bobby sighs again, pushes his hands against his thighs, and stands up. “I gotta get going. Just wanted to see for myself you were alright.”

“I’m alright.”

“Good. Don’t want you faintin’ again. You scared the undergrads.”

“Shit, who—”

“I’m takin’ over the class for the time being, but I’m countin’ on you bein’ back pretty soon. You let me know what the doctor says, and you do what he says. Don’t make me sic Ellen on you.”

The threat of Ellen is real. Last time Dean had the flu, Benny called her when he showed up for a yoga class. She called him a moron while she dragged him home and forced him to go to bed, took care of him all night, even when he was up puking his guts out. She’s a menace.

“Alright, Bobby, I get the message. I’ll keep you in the loop. Or someone will. You let me know if you need me to do anything, though? I should probably get Sam to bring my research shit here if I’m gonna be stuck here for the next day—”

“I’ll make sure to let that brother of yours know that if he brings your thesis materials to this hospital, there’ll be hell to pay. You rest.”

“Bobby!”


	14. Chapter 14

The next few days of treatment suck because Dean hasn’t been released. He’s still stuck in the hospital, and he’s bored as hell. The Sensinull is coming out of his system a bit slower than Balthazar would like, but not slow enough that he feels dialysis is warranted, which is a relief for Dean. Dialysis sounds like more time in a hospital, which is Dean’s special hell.

Dean meets Dr. Pamela Barnes, who comes into his hospital room without introducing herself while he’s coincidentally brooding about with no damn privacy for even longer, and the second she opens the door to his room he jolts in his bed, his lack of privacy in the hospital confirmed even further by this unknown random Sentinel walking into his room without even knocking. She leans casually against the wall just inside of the doorway and grins at Dean in his bed, which sets Dean off.

“Jesus, lady,” he snaps, “can’t you see this room’s taken?” He can’t help but be short that this stranger, this _Sentinel_ just waltzed right into his space.

“I can’t, actually,” she grins, and Dean realizes why she’s wearing dark sunglasses. She’s blind. Dean just yelled at a blind person. He’s going to hell for sure.

“I’m so—”

“Don’t worry about it, Dean.” She waves away his apology, and the use of his first name surprises him into silence. “You are Dean, right? Winchester?”

“Yeah. Who are you?”

“Dr. Pamela Barnes.” She strides forward purposefully and puts out her hand for Dean to shake. He’s an idiot. Of course, they wouldn’t let anyone just walk in. He’s a little startled by the way she navigates the room, closing the door behind her, then swerving around furniture and stopping in the exact right spot near Dean’s hospital bed. “Good to meet you, handsome.”

“Uh. How would you—”

“I mean, I can still see, you know? Just not in the traditional sense. Normal people don't get it, but you do, right?”

Dean takes a minute to actually think about the implications. He almost always knows where everything is in the room without even looking. If someone’s in his immediate vicinity he knows about their movements, can translate the feeling of their movements into a visual in his mind. Pam uses that to see, and Dean gets it.

“Yeah, I guess I do. Still, that’s pretty cool.”

“Thanks. It took some practice.”

“So, uh. What’s up?”

“Well. Balthazar tells me you’re having some trouble, kiddo.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and Pam grins. Dean’s impressed that she could tell.

“Does it bother you that I’m a Sentinel?” She asks, suddenly.

“Uh,” Dean’s not sure. “It did when you first walked in, but maybe it just surprised me. It’s okay now. I guess.” She’s sitting now, relaxed in a way that makes Dean relax a little, too. Dean thinks of Rufus; with him, Dean always has to be on guard, like the man is just waiting for Dean to slip up so he can mock him for it. Pamela feels… cool. She’s confident, but not in a way that makes Dean feel like he’s being tested. They’re good.

“Alright, good. Let’s talk, then.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“What did Balthazar tell you about me?”

“You’re some kind of Sentinel expert. That’s it.”

“How about you tell me your story, and then I’ll tell you mine. Balthazar gave me a quick overview, said you’d been royally screwed by your doctors in the past. He wants to make it right. I think he takes it as an offense to his profession when other doctors do a bad job.”

Yeah, Dean can see that. He’s a perfectionist, insists on the best treatment for Dean possible. Balthazar wants the best for every case he works, and he’s not afraid to fight The Man to get it. Dean respects that.

“Uh, okay. Where do you want me to start?”

“When did you first know you were a Sentinel?”

“My parents figured it out when I was like two or three, but I don’t remember ever not knowing. I used to get frustrated with the other kids because I used to just know things that they took ages to figure out, and then I’d get mad when they didn’t want to play with me anymore.”

“I bet you were a little shit about hide-and-seek.”

Dean grins. This woman gets it.

“You’re fuckin’ right I was. Bobby eventually got through to me at some point. Told me that I was different from them, and it wasn’t nice of me to point stuff out just because I knew about it.”

“Who’s Bobby?”

“He’s… kind of an uncle. He was my dad’s buddy from way back, I guess they met at the VA and were grumpy together. They lost touch and then reconnected when I was three. Then mom died, and dad moved us to this tiny little town across the country.” He tells Pam about spending summers at Bobby’s house until they finally moved back, and he tells her about moving in with the man when he was seventeen because his dad took off. “Bobby sort of adopted us, and he’s the one who managed to convince me to switch to aerospace engineering. It’s his fault I’m a Ph.D. candidate at all.”

“‘Us?’”

“My brother, Sam. He’s four years younger than me and already out there changing the world. He’s a lawyer, works in family law. Lots of kids in abusive homes ‘n stuff.” Pam’s quiet for a beat, and Dean’s sure that, blind or not, she sees right through him, but her next prompt takes him in a different direction.

“So Bobby convinced you to go to school?”

“Yeah, I mean, I wasn’t gonna go. Was just gonna be a mechanic. I never got the best grades in school, not after my Sentinel shit really kicked off.”

“Is that when you started seeing the doctors Balthazar wants to murder?”

Dean laughs. “Yeah. It sucked.” He tells Pam about the hospital stays, and the town thinking he was some kind of demon, and then he tells her how the worst part was trying to take care of Sam through it all.

“You wouldn’t know it looking at him, but that kid was tiny until he was about sixteen. He got picked on all the time, and I was constantly worried something was going to happen to him.”

“You were protective.”

“Hell yeah, I was. I practically raised that kid. But then the town started calling me a devil, and of course, Sam got pulled in, too. The kids at school bullied him something fierce, and I was havin’ a hard time trying to keep up with everything while the sedatives were trying to make me fall asleep, and I couldn’t focus on anything.”

“It’s understandable.”

“Except Sammy was my job. I’m the one who looks out for him, and I fucked up this one night, finally ended up just passing the hell out, might’ve been when they were still trying to find the right dose of sedatives? Anyway, I fell asleep and 9-year-old Sam decided it was the perfect time to go on an adventure.

“Uh oh.”

“Yeah. Sam left. He only went around to the back of the building where he had this little fort he had built, but we didn’t know that. Dad came home, and he was pissed. I woke up and he was already—” Dean cuts himself off. He didn’t mean to say that.

Pam raises an eyebrow. “Already what?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how to answer.

There’s a long silence where he can’t find the right words, and the other Sentinel leans forward in her seat slightly to prompt him again with a guess that hits the nail right on the head. She speaks softly but isn’t patronizing. “Your dad took out his anger on you. Did he hit you?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah,” he answers, gruff and quiet. “It was my fault, though. Shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

“You said it yourself before. You were on sedatives.”

“I coulda stayed awake.”

“Can I ask where your dad had been? Was this after work?”

“Uh. No. It was pretty late. He probably was at the bar.”

Pam nods, and Dean jumps to defend his dad. He hates himself for it. “He had a lot on his plate. I was a lot of work, lots of doctor visits, and unexpected hospital stays and stuff. I was supposed to watch Sam, and I fucked up.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen. It was only a few weeks before we moved back here. I was old enough to know better.”

“Do you think his reaction was appropriate?” Dean furrows his brow and doesn’t answer. What does she mean? Pam tries again. “If a fourteen-year-old came up to you and told you that their dad hit them the way your dad did because their nine-year-old brother decided to be a nine-year-old. Would you think it was an appropriate reaction?”

Dean’s walking right into her trap, but he can’t avoid it at this point. “Of course not.”

“I don’t need you to tell me the answer to this, but I do want you to think about it, okay? What makes what you did, different from any other fourteen-year-old kid who makes a mistake? Especially when everything turns out to be okay.”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, and it bothers him.

“We’ve got some more time left, but I think I’ve left you with enough to think about.”

Dean nods, his mind still turning over the question. Why was he different?

“I promised I’d tell you about myself,” Dean brings his attention back to Pam. He’s curious about her, that’s for sure. “Well. I’ve known I was a Sentinel since I was ten, which is coincidentally when I went completely blind. 

“My parents knew I had a degenerative eye condition, and I was ten when it caught up to me. We had prepared for me to be fully blind, but on the day that I woke up and I couldn’t see with my eyes, I still got up and made myself a bowl of cereal like usual. I ended up telling my parents at lunchtime that my eyes had finally stopped seeing, but that it was okay, that I’d just use the other way.”

“‘The other way?’” Dean prompts her, smirking.

“Yeah. I had no idea that other people couldn’t do what we could. I hadn’t ever zoned, never gave any indication that I knew stuff I shouldn’t because I could sense it, apparently. My parents just thought I was really intuitive. They gave me the Sentinel-Guide test at the hospital when mom and dad thought I was going crazy, and I pinged high on the Sentinel side.

“So it ended up being not a problem, not being able to see with my eyes. It’s not perfect, mind you. Colors are pretty tricky, and it’s less of a headache for me to use text to speech instead of reading from paper or trying to use braille. But hey, I still went to school, had friends. Went to college and decided to become a doctor. Ended up doing psychiatry, but with a side-helping of research on sensory processing. I’ve got an office here at the research hospital, and an office across town where I see a lot of my patients for counseling.”

“So you’re a shrink.”

“I guess. I specialize in the treatment of Guides and Sentinels, though, and not just their mental health. If you need sensory suppressants, strategies to deal with extra input way before it ever becomes a zone? I’m your gal.”

Alastair was a specialist, too. Dean feels a lurch in his stomach that has nothing to do with today’s lunch.

“Dean,” Pam’s voice is insistent, and he looks up at her. “Balthazar told me you were one of Alastair White’s patients,” She uncrosses her legs and leans forward with her hands casually folded in front of her, elbows on her knees. “I’m sorry that happened to you. That no one in your life knew better. But I think you already know that what I do and what Alastair White did are nothing alike.”

Pam’s words are straight to the point. She doesn’t fuck around, doesn’t tell him how he should feel about something. Pam has been fair, hasn’t leveraged anything, has even shared something of herself with Dean. She didn’t have to do that.

“Thanks,” is the only response he can come up with, but he hopes Pam catches his meaning.

In the few minutes left before Pamela has to see another patient, she gets down to business, starts talking about her plans for his treatment. It makes Dean tense up a little, but he makes himself listen. Pam wants to confer with Balthazar, but she tells Dean what she’s going to recommend. She wants to meet with Dean for one hour per week at her other office space, and whether Dean wants to treat it as a therapy session or not is up to him, but she wants a weekly check-in. When Dean is clear of the Sensinull, she wants to start him on a mild anti-anxiety medication and a mild antidepressant and wants to give him something fast-acting for his panic attacks. She encourages him to do some research on the types of meds she’s talking about.

“There are a lot of misconceptions out there that they’ll change your personality or turn you into a zombie or something. We’re not talking antipsychotics here, Dean. You’re not going to be a different person taking these. You’ll just feel better.”

***

Dean gets to go home the next day. Sam raided his dresser and brought him some of his specially-made clothes. Dean resigns himself to life without graphic tees for a while. When he bought the clothes with the special fabric, he brought Jess with him, figuring if he was going to splurge on expensive clothes specially made, he might as well kill two birds with one stone. After realizing that everything he owned that didn’t chafe was business or formal-wear, he went back to the tailor shop and ordered clothes for laying around, too. Some plain t-shirts, a pair of joggers the tailor and Jess had insisted he looked too good in to not buy, and a basic pair of loose-fitting lounge pants. At least he remembered socks and underwear last time. Both of his suits, nearly all of his button-downs, some sweaters, and every pair of not-denim pants he owns are custom-tailored and chosen by Sam’s wife. She considers herself his stylist. 

Dean gets dressed in the joggers and a sweater and steps outside his room. The world is louder out here. It’s the first time he’s left his Sentinel-safe room since he arrived two days before, he realizes, and the difference is jarring. Dean hasn’t taken Sensinull in two days, and things are starting to sharpen. He didn’t even realize they were dull.

“Dean? You okay?” Sam has stopped walking, Dean realizes because Dean has stopped walking. They’re standing just outside the doorway to his room, and Dean has to close his eyes against the bright white of the lights in the halls.

He nods to Sam. It’s not overwhelming, it’s just a lot, and he needs a minute. He lets himself adjust, one sense at a time like Pam suggested. 

_“Locate one thing you notice from each sense when it’s a lot. Make sure you include that sixth sense no one ever teaches you.”_

_“Huh?”_

_“Proprioception, remember? Notice what you can feel around you, notice where your body is. Sight, sound, smell, touch, taste, and proprioception. All six, every time.”_

He tries it. He smells antiseptic, he sees leaves embossed in the wallpaper. He tastes the remnants of the mint toothpaste the hospital provided. He hears Sam’s heartbeat. He feels… Sam touches his shoulder, probably wondering if he’s okay. So he feels Sam’s hand on his shoulder. And he senses a nurse coming down the hallway. She’s pushing her cart and reading something, and she doesn’t realize she’s about to crash into a wall of Sam.

He pulls Sam aside, the woman letting out a shocked noise as she realizes she almost ran right into him.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it, I was standing in the middle of the hallway. Have a good day,” Sam waves her off, and Dean raises a hand in farewell, too. “Dean? What’s up?”

“Sorry. Just, uh. Leaving the room was a shock; I didn’t think about it. Was trying a thing Pam suggested. Let’s go. Do you know where Balthazar’s office is?”

“Yeah, Cas showed me yesterday. Did it work?”

“Yeah, actually.”

They walk down the hallway, and Dean realizes he’s feeling more alert than he has in years, probably. There’s a flutter of anxiety that he’s about to be overwhelmed, the world is basically a barrage of sensory input after all, but it doesn’t happen. The anxiety doesn’t quite go away, a little fluttering moth in his stomach, but he allows himself to relax, just a little.

When they reach Balthazar’s office, the door opens before they even reach it. It’s Cas, wearing those slim-cut scrubs Dean can’t stop staring at, the dark blue color making his eyes look absolutely unreal. He’s not wearing a lab coat and is instead wearing a light fleece jacket with the hospital logo on the front, the jacket the same color as his scrubs. Even his sneakers, those stupidly expensive ones Dean had scoffed at when they bought them at the sporting goods store… Cas looks good. Why does he ever wear anything except scrubs? 

“I felt you coming down the hallway,” he says and gives Dean a peck on the lips. Sam pretends to gag in the background and Dean ignores him. “You look good,” Cas adds. Dean laughs at him and decides Cas is full of shit, Dean feels like a slob next to him. He showered this morning, so he’s not actually dirty, but it was with the hospital’s shitty soap. He didn’t shave and he doesn’t have any hair products here, so his hair is kind of fluffy. Stupid hospital soap. He’s taking another shower when he gets home.

“Liar.”

“I never lie.”

“That’s true, actually,” Balthazar pipes up, ushering them into the office. “Cassie here always tells the truth, even when it hurts.” He glances up at them, visually scanning them standing next to each other. 

Pam is waiting in a chair at a round table with five chairs spaced neatly around it. She waves at Cas and Dean, who has to calm his initial instinct to confront the other Sentinel. Cas wraps his fingers around his wrist, refocusing Dean’s attention on him for a moment. Dean nods, and Pam chuckles in her seat. She hasn’t made a move to stand up, and Dean is grateful. He knows that Pam and Cas know each other, but he’s never actually been with them in the same room. His instincts want to intimidate Pam until she backs down, moves away from his Guide, but Dean pulls himself together. Cas is not his Guide. Pam isn’t trying to take him.

He still positions himself so he’s sitting between them. It makes Cas roll his eyes, and it makes Pam smirk. Balthazar and Sam both take their seats at the table, thankfully oblivious to the invisible exchange that just took place.

He’s grateful for Cas's calming presence at this meeting, though. He’s about to have a bunch of restrictions placed on him, and he’s never done well with rules.

“Alright, down to business. Dean, I just want to make sure. You’re okay with both Castiel and your brother hearing your diagnoses, treatment, restrictions, all that jazz?”

Dean had hesitated when the idea of Sam and Cas both knowing his medical shit was first brought up, but Balthazar was right to prepare him yesterday. He doesn’t care if Sam knows, and it’s probably better that Cas knows too, especially since Cas is going to be effectively moving in with Dean for the next few weeks to keep an eye on him and make sure nothing medically concerning happens, and Pam had agreed it was probably the best choice. Sam had volunteered, but Dean shut him down. Sam’s got Jess, he doesn’t need to spend the next few weeks sleeping away from his wife to take care of his crazy older brother.

Cas moving in is pretty fast too, considering they haven’t even really had sex yet - mutual shower handjobs and grinding on the couch don’t count. Dean doesn’t think.

The only thing Dean doesn’t want to talk about is the self-injury thing. Balthazar didn’t push and instead suggested he talk to Pam about it. Dean’s still considering.

“So. Dean’s on board with our plan of treatment, but I want to make sure you two know about it, since Sam, you’re Dean’s current power of attorney and should know what’s going on, and Cassie, you’re his boyfriend and a Guide and will probably figure it out anyway. And you’re going to be playing naughty nurse for a moment.”

“Dean can take care of himself, Balthazar, but thank you,” Cas says, in a tone that implies he knows Balthazar is full of it. Dean didn’t even have to say anything, what a nice change.

“You’re no fun. Cassie, you already know what to watch out for, and since you’re a Guide I’m not too worried about Dean falling into a zone while you’re around. However, we’re going to have to work together on identifying Dean’s triggers for panic.”

Dean still feels like a total fucking idiot for panicking in the first place.

“Not triggers for zones?” Sam inquires. He’s taking notes on his tablet, what a nerd.

“No,” Pam answers this time, “Dean’s already fairly certain of those, and while they are to be avoided if possible, we’re talking specifically of the triggers for panic attacks. Dean’s previous psychiatrist more or less trained him to think that his panic attacks were a zone, and in wanting to avoid a zone, Dean’s panic escalates. A manageable anxiety response becomes something of a feedback loop, and all it does is get worse. Yes, it sometimes becomes a zone. We’d rather that didn’t happen, right Dean?”

“Sounds about right to me. Wish you didn’t talk about me like I was a dog, though. Fuckin’ _trained_?”

Balthazar smirks at him. “It’s the correct scientific word, sweetheart.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it.”

Dean can feel Pam rolling her eyes at them. Cas is looking at him with something like amusement, and it soothes something in him. He settles back in to listen, Cas's arm now draped along the back of his chair. It’s a warm line for him to rest against, a relaxing point of contact.

“The anxiety is the first thing we’re monitoring. The second thing is depression.”

Pam steps in, Dean figures because it’s more her area. “It’s possible that as your Sensinull level goes down, your depression will dissipate, but it’s more probable that you had mild depression as an existing condition before you started taking the sedatives and then the Sensinull. The brain is mysterious, after all. We just want to watch it. I can already tell that you’re an expert at avoiding detection at this sort of thing.”

“Understatement,” Sam fake coughs into his hand, and Dean glares at him.

“I know you hate the feelings talk, Dean, so I’m not going to force you to talk it out or anything, it’s an exercise in futility at this point. But we want you to note it in here,” she produces a slim journal and opens it to the first page. “It’s simple and takes about half a second. Every day, or as it changes if it does during the day, I want you to write the date and then check a box. You can look at the options later, and there’s space to write if you feel like writing, but it’s up to you.”

Balthazar picks up where Pam left off. “Anxiety is a common trait in Sentinels. Feeling so much input naturally puts you on edge, so you’re predisposed to it already. We’re hoping that once we’re able to effectively treat your anxiety, the panic attacks will cease, and it will be far more difficult for your sensory system to overwhelm you.”

Balthazar pulls a sheet of paper out of his folder and passes it to Dean, then gives a copy to Sam. Cas leans closer to Dean to read from his copy. “I’ve compiled a list of suggestions for limiting sensory input. Fair warning, they’re going to be a pain for now.”

They are.

Balthazar has given him the go-ahead to teach his classes, but would like him to get his students to do stuff like, “Reduce use of colognes and perfumes on days they’re in his class,” and, “Do not allow students to bring food or beverages into the classroom, aside from water,” though in parenthesis he added “(coffee may also be acceptable, depending on your preferences,)” which is actually pretty funny. Balthazar would also like him to preemptively ask them to stay quiet.

“Quiet? It’s a class, man. We talk.”

“That’s understandable, but I mean extra noise. Can you ask them to speak in a normal voice? No yelling.”

“Oh. I guess. They’re not too rowdy anyway.”

The list goes on… Dim the lights… Nothing flashing unexpectedly. Dean remembers the disco ball and can see the need for it. It’s only for a few weeks, at least. Hopefully. It all sounds like a pain in the ass if Dean’s honest. 

Dean reads down the list, and most of the things make sense. But then he gets to the bottom. 

Balthazar put a temporary ban on running.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Running’s the only thing that makes me tired enough to sleep!” He knows Pam is listening to this with her psychiatrist’s ears, but right now Dean couldn't care less. When he doesn’t run he feels like he’s crawling out of his skin, and then he can’t sleep and he can’t eat, and his focus goes to hell.

“You can do yoga, or strength training. Nothing high impact. I don’t want you running off and having a zone, and I don’t want you tripping over your feet because you can’t feel them. And frankly, I’d like you to gain some weight. Running burns more calories than yoga or strength training, and you need the calories. It’s only temporary, just until we can ensure you’re not going off the rails.”

Dean grumbles, but he sees the sense, even if he hates it. “Yeah, yeah. Guess I have to join a gym or something.”

“Dean,” Cas ventures, “I can teach you some body-weight exercises if you’d like. So, if you don’t want to join a gym or use the one on campus, you don’t have to.”

Dean nods, happy with the compromise. Plus he gets to see Cas all sweaty, which is a definite bonus.

“Well,” Balthazar says, “that’s about it. We’ve packaged some blood draw kits for Cassie, he’ll take care of that for you.” Dean had agreed to have Cas draw his blood at home so he doesn’t have to come into the hospital lab every few days to have his levels checked, and as far as Dean’s concerned that’s a bonus. “You have my number, call if you need anything. We’ll schedule your follow up with the new medication once we get the all-clear from the labs.”

Dean doesn’t plan on going back to Dr. Gelbman. The smile on Cas's face when he told him that he won’t see Azazel again was confirmation enough for Dean that it was something Cas had been worrying about. But no part of Dean wants to go back. Balthazar will take over as his primary care physician. Gelbman’s office still hasn’t responded to Balthazar’s request for his records, and Dean’s ready to go down there and get them himself.

Balthazar also gives him some information on ways to stop self-harm, but Dean mostly ignores them. If he can’t have the Sensinull he needs this. He and Pam haven’t talked about it yet, but Dean’s pretty sure she knows about it if Balthazar put it in his notes.


	15. Chapter 15

The first few days living together are tense, but they’re figuring it out.

Dean gets annoyed that Cas makes him at least try to eat every few hours. When Castiel confronts him, Dean admits that the meal Castiel prepares causes him sensory overload. So, Cas brings him foods that are simple in every way. Pasta is plain with butter, and nothing else on the plate. Even the plate is plain, they’re not Dean’s garage-sale mismatched set with the ugly designs. Castiel only plates one food at a time so Dean never has to adjust between textures on his plate. Nutritionally, it could be better, but Cas is sure to rotate through the food groups for every meal and snack. It’s more food than Dean has had in months, and he tells Cas he doesn’t even dread eating anymore.

Cas is proud of Dean and tells him so when he watches him diligently fill out his journal for Balthazar and Pamela, but Dean brushes it off, tells him it makes him feel like a kid with a good report card.

Dean’s first class since he was released from the hospital is a success, mostly. He tells Cas about it when they’re both home and relaxing on Dean’s sofa.

“Bobby basically tore them a new one in his last lecture,” Dean tells him, lighting up as he remembers the stories his students shared of the terrifying look on Bobby’s face when he warned them that willfully breaking the rules he set in place for the safety of his faculty would have a zero-tolerance policy. Cas thinks Dean is beautiful when he laughs, he wants to make him laugh more. “I have no fuckin’ clue how he thinks we’ll enforce it, but they were pretty good about it. It got too loud a couple of times, mostly because I think they forget that I can hear every fucking thing they do. I called one kid out for listening to music on his headphones, and the kid next to him whispered, ‘Dude I couldn’t even hear your headphones,’ and I almost laughed my ass off. Sentinel hearing has its downsides, man, but when you’re teaching it’s like a gift.”

Dean zones twice in the first three days, and each time he withdraws into himself for a little while. Cas isn’t sure, but he thinks Dean spends the time internally berating himself, angry at this perceived weakness.

The first time they have to do a blood draw, Dean is having a bad day. As the Senisnull flushes out of his system, the heavy depressant causes his mood to fluctuate. Dean is laying in his bed when Castiel wakes for work, simply staring at the ceiling.

“Dean?”

“Hm.”

“Are you… what would you like for breakfast?” He changes track halfway through his question, realizing how stupid it is. Of course, he’s not okay. What does making him confirm it achieve?

“Not hungry.” Dean’s voice sounds dampened, a bell not allowed to ring. Cas reaches out tentatively, but Dean shifts away. “Don’t.”

“Okay. I won’t.” He watches Dean and the flat look in his eyes and a sense of sadness falls over him. “I know you’re not hungry, but if I bring you a piece of toast, do you think you can try it?”

Dean nods, glances over at Cas. “You don’t have to.” His eyes look glassy like they might spill over with tears soon. He hates to tear himself away.

“I know. I want to. I’ll be right back, okay?” Cas gets another nod in response, and he moves quickly to prepare some coffee and toast. Two plain slices with butter; one for Dean, the other for him. Sometimes it helps Dean remember to eat when he sees Castiel do it too, unconsciously mirroring him.

When Castiel returns from the kitchen, he’s already called the hospital and taken the morning off. He was due to drop Dean’s bloodwork at the lab before his shift, but it can wait. He coaxes some water into Dean and then gets him to sit up. The toast sits on a plate between them, and Dean eyes it, coffee mug held snug in his hands, though he hasn’t taken a drink yet.

“We’re gonna get crumbs in the bed.”

“I’ll change the sheets.”

Dean huffs air out through his nose, the closest to a laugh Cas thinks he’s probably going to get from Dean this morning. He’ll take it.

Dean moves his arms as though it has an extra weight at the end, but he successfully transfers the mug to the bedside table and breaks off a corner of one of the pieces of toast. He takes a small bite, and Cas smiles, pretending for Dean’s sake that he’s not finding joy in watching a man eat a slice of toast. Dean would be embarrassed.

Little by little, Dean manages to eat most of his slice. Rather than reaching to finish it, Cas sees his face crumple and Dean succumbs to the tears he must’ve been holding back. Castiel moves the plate out of the way, and once again makes a gentle attempt at physical contact.

This time, Dean doesn’t pull away, he even asks for more in the way he pulls Cas closer to him. Castiel manages to lay both of them down on their sides and pulls Dean into his chest, holding him tightly. The Sentinel cries silent tears into Cas's shirt, the only sounds he makes are stuttering breaths as he spills his grief into the open.

Castiel cries too, sympathetic tears for Dean’s sorrow echoing through their incomplete bond, amplified by their close contact. It feels cold to Castiel, a frost trying to take Dean. He briefly lets go of Dean to pull the blanket tighter around them. He knows the cold isn’t real, but he also knows the security of a blanket is not to be underestimated. 

Eventually, Dean settles. 

“What can I do?” Castiel eventually asks, voice soft.

“You’re already doing it,” Dean responds, voice thick.

A little while later, Dean speaks again. “I hate myself when I’m like this.”

Cas presses a kiss into the top of his head. “I hate that you’re feeling pain, but I could never hate you.”

“You will eventually. Or maybe you just won’t care.”

“Impossible.”

Dean pauses, but then so softly that Castiel almost misses it says, “Amara said that, too. Told me she loved me.”

“An ex-girlfriend?”

“An ex-Guide.” Dean’s simple response has Cas reeling. Dean had a Guide? He doesn't know how to respond, and he must take too long to answer, because Dean starts to pull away, says, “You don’t have to want me anymore, I get it,” and Cas has to pull him back in.

“Never. I will always want you. I simply don’t know what to say.” Dean comes back to him willingly, hiding his face in Cas's chest. “Can I ask what happened?”

Dean inhales, holds it for a few seconds, and then releases it. Cas waits.

“She left me. We hadn’t Bonded, but we were planning on it. Then. Found her in bed with another Sentinel.”

Cas can’t help his sharp inhale. It’s despicable behavior. Castiel can’t fathom it, can’t picture himself putting another person through the pain it must have caused Dean.

“I’m sorry she did that to you.”

“Was my fault. I wasn’t good enough for her.”

Dean might as well tear Castiel’s heart out.

“There is no way that’s true.” Dean is about to protest again, but Cas won’t let him. “Any Guide who would put a Sentinel through that is sadistic. To do that, to promise yourself to a Sentinel. It means feeling them all the way down to their soul. I can’t imagine knowing the heart of a Sentinel, making the promise to him, and ripping it away. I could never.” Another echo of self-flagellation comes his way from the Sentinel. “What is it?”

“Just—I must be some kind of garbage Sentinel because—” he cuts himself off, a sob he can’t help, “—Lisa.”

A second Guide. A second Guide left this Sentinel? _This_ Sentinel?

“Oh, Dean.” _My Dean_ , he says to himself. There’s nothing to say, nothing that Cas could say at this moment that would bring Dean more comfort than Castiel simply staying with him, no rejection in his heart. “You were so strong to go through that, and twice? I can’t imagine.”

“It sucked. Bobby was there, though.”

No wonder Bobby is so protective of Dean. No wonder Dean is so distrustful. He’s had precious little experience in his trust being treated like someone worthy of being cared for.

“You’re too good to me, Cas. I don’t even know if I can bond properly, and I don’t know if I want to try. Not if it’s gonna feel like that when you leave.”

“I don’t know how to convince you that I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as you’ll have me.”

“I don’t know how to convince me, either.”

They spend the morning that way, Castiel holding Dean closely, occasionally encouraging him to eat and finish his coffee. When they’ve both settled and relaxed further, Dean suddenly pushes himself away enough to look Cas in the face, and he looks startled.

“Cas! You’re supposed to be at work!”

“I took the morning off.”

“Why?”

“You were upset.”

“I’m fine. You should go to work.”

“I’ll go in a couple of hours, it’s not a problem. Are you feeling up to doing a blood draw today? We have it scheduled, but I can do it tomorrow instead.”

“Nah, we can do it today. Just—” Dean shudders, and Castiel feels something like blooming panic from Dean, and Castiel is unsure of the cause. “—stay for a little bit? If you’re already off of work for the morning?”

Oh. Dean thinks he’s going to leave. He holds on a little tighter. The more time he spends with Dean, the more he observes, he begins to see Dean’s prime fears a bit clearer. Dean fears being left alone above all else. Not that it stopped him from pushing Castiel away in the beginning.

“Do you think it’s working?”

“What?”

“The Sensinull thing. Do you think it’s fading?”

“Yes.”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s nothing scientific.”

“Tell me.”

“When I feel your emotions, they’re less… cloudy. Closer to what I imagine it was like when we first met, though we never got this close then, so it’s difficult to say. It was much easier to reach you during your last zone than it had been in the hospital. After you increased your dosage it was difficult to reach you outside of a strong emotion.”

“Huh.”

“In the hospital, when I was Guiding you, it was… like smoke. Or smog? It left a residue on everything like I had to wipe it away before I could get to you. Obviously, there’s no physical manifestation, but when we were connected like that, it felt like it got everywhere. Like it settled on me, too.”

“Cas, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is, though.” Cas tries to interrupt him—Dean can’t take the blame for this, not for following his doctor’s orders—but Dean shushes him. “I knew Gelbman wasn’t following the right protocol, even if I didn’t exactly know what it should be. I knew there were probably supposed to be more visits, more checkups. I don't know anyone else who gets a new medication from their doctor without some kind of physical exam. I knew, but I didn’t care.”

“Even so, it wasn’t your choice.”

“It kinda was. I didn’t care if I got hurt, or even if it killed me, dude. I never wanted to be a Sentinel. I woulda taken anything he gave me to make it stop.”

It’s Castiel’s turn to feel pain, apparently. Dean wouldn’t be who he is without his Sentinel abilities, they’ve shaped him as a person. And Castiel is in love with him. This Sentinel is everything Castiel has ever wanted, and he can officially confirm that hearing the person you’re in love with tell you they didn’t care if they died is unpleasant, to say the least.

They haven’t bonded, and yet. There’s a bond between them, and Castiel isn’t sure he will ever give it up.

They sleep for an hour or so, and Castiel wakes when he feels Dean stir beside him. When he sees Castiel is awake, his smile is genuine. The darkness Castiel could feel around him earlier in the morning isn’t gone, but it’s dissipated somewhat.

“Hey there, sunshine.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“You should have lunch before you go into work.”

“Yes. You need to eat as well. And I need to draw your blood. Drink some water, it helps if you’re not dehydrated.”

They move at a slow pace, separating so that Castiel can take a shower. He changes into the scrubs he has with him and tosses a change of clothes into his bag for after work.

When he meets Dean downstairs, he finds the man flipping a grilled cheese on the stove. Castiel comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Dean’s middle.

“Smells good.”

“You smell good. You used my shampoo again.”

“I did.”

“I like it when you smell like me.”

It makes Castiel feel warm when Dean is possessive like this. He also likes seeing Castiel in his clothes, and he has to admit, he likes it, too.

Surprisingly, Dean is able to eat a sandwich alongside him, which is the first time in three days he’s been able to eat something with more than one ingredient. Castiel doesn’t mention it, but Dean’s shy smile when he notices Castiel watching him says plenty. They do the blood draw right there in the kitchen after lunch, with Dean laying his arm out on the island counter.

Right before he leaves, he takes care of Dean again. Makes sure there is at least one snack in the house he’ll eat, reminds him that he needs to drink water. 

“Dude, I _know_ , just get out of here.” Dean hands him his bag with his change of clothes and then hands him the small cooler bag that contains Dean’s blood samples and the little orange biohazard bag he’ll dispose of when he gets to the hospital.

Dean’s mood has improved, but it’s definitely still a low day. “You’ll text me if you need anything,” Cas says, more like a statement than a question.

“Yeah. Promise.”

“Okay. I should be home around six, barring an emergency surgery. I’ll let you know.” He hesitates, still unsure about leaving Dean today.

“Go. I’ll see you tonight.”

Cas pulls himself away. He needs to deliver the blood samples anyway.

***

It’s been two weeks since Dean was released from the hospital, and Dean keeps zoning. He’s frustrated because there’s no real pattern to it. He’ll go a few days with nothing, but then will zone multiple times in a single day. Cas thinks his sensory system is finally leveling out, though.

Not being able to run is an absolute nightmare, Dean often feels unsettled, especially in the evenings. Cas does his best to tire him out with his promised body-weight workouts, and they’ve gone to Benny’s class several times, which has been interesting. He’s had a harder time settling his mind for class, but he’s more balanced than ever. Benny even thinks they could go back to working on some of the advanced balance poses if Dean can continue at his current level.

He has an appointment with Balthazar and Pam to go over the results of the new blood samples Cas dropped off before his shift. Dean hopes that’s the end of the poking. The panic attacks are still happening every day, though, and Dean’s having a difficult time dealing with them without his usual coping methods. Half the time he even succeeds, but he can’t deny the rush of relief he gets from the quick burn of a flame or the flash of the knife. Cas hasn’t caught him at it yet, but he’s seen some of the aftermath. It makes Dean burn with shame, but Cas just kisses the bandage and tells him he’s glad he’s feeling better.

Dean doesn’t deserve him. Especially not right now, watching him and Sam argue.

“You should be watching him better!”

“He’s doing very well, under the circumstances.” Cas's response is calm, but Sam never has been able to stop his hot temper from taking over, especially when it has to do with Dean.

“Is he really? Then why the fuck does he have a fresh burn on his arm, Castiel? Why didn’t you stop him?

“Hey!” Dean shouts, feeling invisible, moving his arm to hide the bandage pointlessly. Sam’s already seen it, but why does he have to point it out? “I’m in the fucking room, asshole!” Dean hates shouting, it makes his ears ring, but Sam’s not hearing anything else. He’s just lucky all this yelling hasn’t thrown him into a panic attack or a zone. Jesus.

“I’m just saying—”

“Cas has been ‘taking care of me’—” he hopes the sarcasm is made plain in his voice, “—just fine, Sam! He’s doing everything he needs to, and more than he really needs to!”

“You zoned in class!”

“Yeah, I did. And it was fine, Sam. We prepped them for it and everything turned out fine.”

It wasn’t great that Dean zoned in the first place, of course. But the university’s Sentinel-Guide Alliance chapter had pushed for policies to be put in place to accommodate Sentinel or Guide teachers, though they weren’t used often, since Sentinels and Guides are rare in the first place - one of his students had recently found out her brother is a Sentinel and was now a member. Each building has an emergency button, usually near the fire alarm, which calls campus security, and from there, Bobby and Cas are located. If Cas is able to come it was ideal, but if not, they planned for Bobby to wait with Dean and keep an eye on him until he either came out on his own or Cas could get there to help.

It worked smoothly, though Dean still feels a little weird, putting his safety in the hands of a group of eighteen-year-olds, but they were eager to help. In any case, Cas was able to come right away and took Dean up to his office to recover a bit.

The burn came later, Dean’s shame taking the form of a panic attack—what if he never finishes his thesis, what if the university decides he’s a liability, what if he can never work, what if Cas decides Dean's more effort than he’s worth? He’s already taken time off work for Dean because Dean can’t handle his own shit. If Cas gets fired for missing too much time, it’s his fault. If a patient dies because Cas isn’t there to save them, it’s Dean’s fault.

Cas had left Dean in the kitchen, only for a minute or two, and when he came back it was to find Dean breathing hard, holding his arm over the flame on his gas stove.

“Dean!” Cas had pulled him away from the stove and then blocked Dean’s access with his own body, turned off the flame before whirling around to snatch Dean’s right hand away from poking at the burn on his left arm, already blistering and shiny-looking. “What on earth were you doing?” he had asked, holding firmly to Dean’s arm and examining the burn. 

“I couldn’t find my lighter.”

Cas's eyes had looked hard into Dean’s face, but Dean wasn’t sure what Cas had seen. He had declared Dean’s burn to be second degree, and treated it right there in the kitchen with the first-aid kit Dean kept under the sink. It wasn’t until Dean started feeling the pain from it, that the shame from giving in to his urge to hurt himself had him attempting to pull away from Cas, his head spinning.

It was at that point Sam had barged in for some innocuous reason, took one look at the first aid kit, and started yelling.

Dean knows he’s a fuckup, but that’s not Cas's fault. And he’s not going to stand around and let Sam blame this on Cas when it was Dean who held his arm to the hot stove.

“Sam,” Cas's voice is still calm, though there’s a definite edge to it now. “Things are going well. Better than we’d hoped—”

“—Are you fucking kidding me, he’s got a second-degree burn—”

“— _Better than we’d hoped_ ,” Cas emphasizes. “The Sensinull will be clear of his system soon, it possibly already is, which he’ll find out tomorrow, and Dean will discuss with his doctors the best course of action. You knew this would happen, that Dean might have more zones. And his panic attacks aren’t new, either. He’s learning to manage them.”

Dean nods fiercely in agreement with Cas. Mostly. He doubts he’s handling his panic attacks as well as he should be.

“He’s managing them with that same old shit!” Sam turns to address Dean, “Why can’t you knock it off? You know it’s not going to work—”

“That’s enough!” Dean thinks this might be the closest he’s ever come to hearing Cas shout. “Sam Winchester, if you can’t show the same empathy for your brother as you can to the clients in your practice undergoing mental health distress, then I don’t know if I can trust you to take care of the wellbeing of a child in need. Dean is an adult, and you’re treating him like a misbehaving child in his own home, and I will not stand for it!”

_Holy shit_ , Dean thinks. Sam blanches, but Castiel—because he’s definitely not _Cas_ right now, —continues.

“Not only are you failing to take into account the difficulties that arise with depression and anxiety, but you’re failing to take into account that your father took him to more than one doctor who advocated for self-harm as a viable coping mechanism, one that he was _trained to participate in_ and was taught was the only way to control himself, for nearly half his life!” Castiel is red-faced, nearly out of breath, and Dean gently places his hand on Castiel’s arm while faces off with Sam in the kitchen. “You’re unbelievable—”

“Cas,” Dean interrupts. “That’s enough, he gets it.”

It’s obvious to Dean that Sam is reeling from the impassioned speech. He has stumbled back a step with the reminder of Dad, and then another when Cas pelted him further with words he couldn’t escape, face draining of color. Cas orients himself towards Dean, glancing only once at Sam, and wraps his arms around him, Dean returning the gesture, folding him into his own arms, rubbing his hand up and down his back. 

“I don’t like when he’s rude to you,” Cas mumbles into Dean’s neck.

“I know.” He looks toward Sam, who’s staring at the ground, sniffling suspiciously. Dean’s in no mood to comfort his little brother but still checks in. “You okay, Sam?”

Sam doesn’t look up at him, but he shakes his head. “I’m gonna, um. I’m gonna go. I’m just—I need to uh, think. I’ll see you later.”

Sam leaves, and Dean is a little startled at the move. He’s just going to leave? After all that? “Cas, lemme go for a sec; I need my phone.”

Cas nods, and shuffles back, also sounding a little sniffly, but thankfully dry-eyed. He can only hand one crier at a time, and right now it’s like all three of them are ready to blow. Dean grabs his phone and pulls up Jess’s contact. He shoots off a text warning her that Cas and Sam had an argument, Sam’s probably feeling really shitty. She responds.

_Shit. Is Cas ok?_

_Yeah. He’s not feeling too hot about it._

_Cas yelled at him, some pretty harsh truths got thrown._

_Alright. You ok?_

_Yeah. Had a shitty day, zoned and stuff. I’m fine now._

_Sucks. Thanks for letting me know._

_What are bros for? ;)_

Dean sighs and drops his phone on the counter. Cas has slumped into one of the chairs at the island while Dean finishes up with Jess, and now he’s got his hands over his face, elbows propped on the counter.

“How you doin’ there, champ?”

Cas moans. “That was horrible.”

“Wasn’t great.” 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, I just got so angry. He has so much compassion for the kids he works with who have dealt with trauma, but his own brother—”

“It’s not his fault. I spent a lot of time and energy keeping that shit from him.”

Cas peeks up to where Dean is leaning on the counter..“I thought you’d be angrier at me.”

“For yelling at Sam? Or for defending my honor?” Dean smirks slightly, and it makes Cas blush. “Thought so.”

“I got carried away.”

“You sure did, buddy,” Dean lets him stew for a moment, but he’s not actually angry. He was more pissed at Sam. Since when does anyone _let_ Dean do shit? But seeing Cas go all righteous rage? “It was kinda hot, actually.”

Cas's head whips up to stare at Dean. “What?”

“You were pretty badass, dude—” Dean never gets to finish what he’s saying because Cas shoves his stool back and launches himself at Dean, who laughs into Cas's mouth at the reaction. A moment later, Cas's tongue presses in and Dean forgets to laugh.

The thing is, they haven’t really done much. A couple of handjobs in the shower, and a lot of making out on the couch. And in bed. And in the Impala. And in the kitchen. And there might have been some mutual satisfaction reached with some over-the-clothes action, but there’s been no actual fucking, per se. And Dean really wants that with Cas, he does. He just doesn’t know if he can.

Zoning during sex sounds like a nightmare.

He feels bad, too. There’s no way Cas is satisfied by what they’ve been doing. Dean’s okay with it because aside from Amara and maybe Lisa, sex has felt like a thing he deals with because his partner wants it.

He wants it with Cas, though. It scares the shit out of him. But thinking about what’s possible has something inside him stirring, and it’s not going to be satisfied with handjobs in the shower for much longer. Cas pulls away, panting. His eyes search Dean’s face.

“You okay?” Dean isn’t sure what that look means.

“Yes. But you feel—different.” His gaze is heavy, and Dean thinks that even if Cas isn’t able to figure it out in his brain yet, his body is already on board.

“I, uh,” Dean clears his throat, tries again, but all that comes out is a breathy, “yeah.”

Dean can’t stop himself. He pushes himself at Cas again and tries to broadcast his intentions as clearly as possible. He wants Cas. He wants Cas upstairs, in his bedroom, and naked.

Some of that must translate, because Cas is pushing back, only turning his head to the side as Dean kisses and licks down his neck, and gasps, “Dean.”

Dean pulls back some and drags Cas upstairs.

***

When Dean arrives in Balthazar’s office the next morning to meet him and Pam, he’s got Cas in tow. They had driven together because Dean’s still not allowed to drive himself, for fear of a zone. Balthazar takes one look between them, and a leering grin appears on his face. “You’re positively glowing this morning, darlings,” he bounces his eyebrows for emphasis, and Dean refuses to blush, simply rolling his eyes. Just because Balthazar is right doesn’t mean he needs to know that he’s right.

Cas doesn’t even rise to the bait, which Dean loves. He’s stoic as fuck, even when he’s being teased.

The upshot of the whole meeting is that Dean is finally free and clear of the Sensinull, and they want to start him on the new medication. Pam will take over as the doctor he sees regularly, and the visits to Balthazar will be more spaced out. Dean’s been zoning more, though it’s not been unexpected, and Dean himself has been surprised that his senses haven’t been as overwhelming as when he was a kid. 

“A lot of it has to do with maturity, but some of it is because you’ve got a stable Guide nearby,” Pam explains.

“We haven’t Bonded.”

“No, but you trust him to help you enough that it’s stabilized your abilities anyway. It’s not a ‘capital B Bond’, but it’s still a bond. It’s a good thing, I promise.”

Dean’s not sure. Even if there's a familiarity there, and it’s helpful to have a Guide nearby, he still needs to stand on his own.

“My primary goal was to get you off the Sensinull, which we’ve achieved,” Balthazar jumps in with his own status update, “I’ll still be monitoring your overall health on the other medications, acting more as your primary care provider unless you decide to see a different doctor,” he raises his eyebrow, and Dean shakes his head—he has no intention of changing doctors at this point. Balthazar nods. “But Pam will monitor you with your weekly visits for now, and then as needed as you move forward. Any questions?”

“Nope.”

“Excellent. I do have one, however.” Balthazar looks Dean straight in the eye when he asks, “What happened to your arm?” The white bandage is still covering the burn on his forearm, and Dean had neglected to wear long sleeves, meaning it’s on full display. He tenses.

Castiel lays a hand on his opposite forearm and answers for him. “Dean burned his arm on the stove yesterday during a panic attack. I checked it again this morning and it’s quite blistered but it’s clean.”

The shame comes rushing back for Dean, and he closes his eyes. He knows they’re all looking at him, and it makes him want to crawl into a hole. What a fucking mess.

Pam interjects before his shame spirals too much. “We’ll work on that. And I’m hopeful that this first medication will help, Dean. I want to start you on an anti-anxiety before we add anything else.”

A long discussion follows, and Dean thinks that several weeks ago this would’ve felt a little ridiculous and unnecessary, but now it just seems like he’s got a small army trying to figure out his problems. And for the first time, it feels like he might actually see the point.


	16. Chapter 16

_Dean met Amara when he was twenty-one. Fresh out of undergrad and working a part-time job at an auto-parts manufacturer, Dean was ready for an adventure, and at five years older, Amara was it. She had a lake house where they would skinny-dip in the middle of the night, and a huge bed they’d fuck in until it was light out. They’d fall asleep wrapped in each other, and do it all again the next day. It was the best sex Dean had ever had, the first time he’d been with someone where he didn’t simply tolerate their touch but enjoyed it._

_Amara was the first Guide he ever resonated with. When it happened, he called Charlie and gushed about this Guide he met, told her he’d never met anyone so perfect._

_She was sexy. And so cool. And she wanted to be with Dean all the time, which, after a lifetime of being told he was a burden, broken, a weight to be carried and then dropped, it was nice to be wanted. Sam was the person besides Charlie who ever wanted to spend time with him, and he went off to school on the other side of the country and barely even talked to Dean, which hurt more than he was willing to admit. Dad hadn’t spoken to Dean in three years. So, yeah. He liked the attention._

_And boy, did Amara pay attention to him. She wanted to feel what he was feeling all the time, wanted to know every detail about his day. And he told her. He let her hold onto him and form a bond. Dean thought they’d end up bonding for real, especially after she found out about the techniques he had learned for stopping zones. She wasn’t disgusted by him, she encouraged him to take control of them, liked watching him do it, sometimes._

_As time passed though, a few things began to worry him. Little things. He found about a hundred photos of him in her nightstand. Most that he didn’t remember her taking and some of them looked like they were at work. And one was at school, and he definitely hadn’t known Amara then. It was weird, but she brushed it off when he confronted her._

_“I’m your Guide. I would never hurt you.”_

_“We haven’t Bonded,” he protested, a technicality._

_“Not yet. We will, though. You’re my other half.” Amara said this constantly, and after a while, Dean believed her. Things were easy with them, most of the time, and though Amara’s father didn’t like Dean very much, Amara said it didn’t matter, as long as they were together._

_Then, Amara gave him a keyring with a chip on it._

_“It’s one of those tracking things. So if you ever get lost I can find you,” Dean knew that Amara didn’t like it when he went out without her, but to track him? That seemed excessive. He cautiously questioned the keyring._

_“Where am I getting lost in my car that I can’t just drive? Or call someone? How would you even know I was lost?”_

_“There’s an emergency button, see? And I have one too, so you can find me.”_

_Well, Dean guessed as long as they both had one, it was probably fine. Besides, Amara could be right. Safety was important and all that. He might zone and not be able to stop it, and the keychain might come in handy._

_But then, he started noticing other things. She was going through his phone, his dresser drawers, his closet. She started following him to work. When she found his photographs from undergrad, photos with other girls, a photo of him kissing another guy, she went ballistic. The fight over his bisexuality was epic. No matter what Dean said, Amara never felt secure that he wouldn’t leave her for a man, she argued that he_ must be gay, _bisexuality isn’t even a real_ thing _. Her words echoed in Dean’s mind, reminding him of when he had come out to his dad. What Amara said had been hurtful. Dean wasn’t even sure he was wrong, but they did eventually make up, though that had been painful, too._

_Dean wasn’t exactly happy, but who was, and hey, he had a Guide, and she said she loved him. He was able to move his sedative dosage down because she was able to help him mitigate the overload, and she even identified some times for him that he needed to get his kit to stop a zone without her Guidance._

_They were waiting to officially Bond until they moved in together, and since there were only a few weeks left on his lease, and they had been together for 13 months, he was going to give up his apartment. The upper management at work told him he would go further if he were to get his MSME, but Dean wasn’t ready for a master’s degree, he’d only been out of school a year or so. And mechanical engineering… it was good, but not what he thought it would be. But maybe they were right, maybe he just needed that to get a better job._

_Then things with Amara took a turn. She became cold, distant. She stopped guiding him, insisting he use his knife or lighter to control himself, and she liked to watch him do it. Once she even asked if she could be the one to do it. He didn’t let her, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he caved, craving the contact they once had._

_One day, Dean had found all those pictures she had of him in the trash, but when they went out together she seemed to alternate between jealousy and extreme aloofness, where she didn’t seem to care where Dean was or what he was doing. And she almost never wanted to just be together, feel each other, when before she couldn’t get enough. Just weird. But he figured they could fix it. He was sure he could do something to make it right. Maybe he wasn’t doing enough for her and a new degree and a new job was the way to go after all?_

_He headed home early from work one afternoon. He’d had a headache during the day, and one of his bosses noticed, sending him home since he hadn’t used any sick days. As soon as he got to the door, he knew something was different. He opened the door to his small studio apartment to find Amara in bed with another woman. Another Sentinel. She screamed at him to get out, but he was in a state of shock. This woman, his Guide, was with another Sentinel? This was his home, and there was another Sentinel in his bed, smirking at him._

_“Dean! Get out!” Amara was screaming at him, were his ears bleeding? It was so loud, everything was so loud._

_Get out? Where would he go? Where was he going? Things were becoming fuzzy, and he was feeling adrift. His Guide, another Sentinel, on his bed, in his space..._

_“It’s my apartment,” drifted out of his mouth, surprising him. He didn’t even know what he was going to say when he started talking. He felt like he was floating, his breath was coming faster and faster. What did he do wrong? Why would Amara look for another Sentinel?_

_“Oh, silly us,” the other Sentinel was saying. From far away, Dean watched her roll out of his bed without a care for her own modesty, reaching toward Amara to pull her up, too._

_“Let’s go, Bela.” And Amara started_ gathering her things _like she was actually going to_ leave _with that other Sentinel? It didn’t fit in his mind. A square peg in a round hole._

_“Oh, dear. I do believe he’s heading for a zone. Or a panic attack. How did you end up with such a terrible Sentinel?” God, it sounded so stupid, like a rehearsed line, and part of Dean wanted to laugh, but the rest of him was busy collapsing in upon itself._

_“Well, he was a good lay, at least. He’s just so fucked up. I told you about the knife, right?” Dean knew that was the truth, but he also didn’t think Amara cared, wasn’t she the one who told him they could be fucked up together? She saw the cigarette burns, and she said she didn’t care, said she liked that he was so disciplined he could use a knife on himself, she told him so._

_Dean’s back hit the wall, and he slowly slid down, faintly hearing the sounds of his Guide and her lover—wasn’t bisexuality a lie?—walking out of his life. He was fucked up, Amara was right. He couldn’t even get to his kit to stop the zone, but did it even matter? There was a sharp pain in his chest, and then all he saw was white._

_He woke sometime later to weak light filtering in through his open blinds, a black woman he vaguely recognized from the hallway as one of his neighbors leaning over him, her warm hand on his forehead. He was sitting on his small sofa, which was odd. He could’ve sworn he was on the floor._

_“There you go, honey, nice and easy.”_

_Dean stared up at her, stupidly. “Huh?”_

_“Panic attack and then a zone, huh? You've been through the mill, boy.”_

_She helped him up, directed him towards the couch. Thankfully away from the bed, though the woman couldn’t do anything about him being able to see it. It was a studio apartment, after all._

_“Who…?”_

_“You just call me Missouri, Dean. Here, have some water.” She handed him a glass of water, a little cooler than room temperature, but when he drank it he didn’t find that it was difficult. The presence of this woman was soothing, and he realized why._

_“You’re a Guide.” It came out like an accusation, though it wasn’t what he meant._

_“That’s right. I heard your fight with that Amara, and thought I should come to check in on you, lucky I did.”_

_“Yeah. I guess.” He finished the glass of water. Now what? The ache in his chest was still there, and he wondered if he was having a heart attack. Dead at twenty-two from a heart attack, what a laugh. Maybe he could call Bobby, head out that way. What did he have here that he couldn’t get there, anyway?_

_“You’re not having a heart attack. Your Guide left you, that leaves a mark, at least for a little while. As for what you’re gonna do next, you’re gonna call Bobby.”_

_“Huh?” Did Missouri know Bobby somehow? They were hours away from Bobby’s place. Dean was still feeling a little blanked out, not everything was adding up, but Missouri seemed to be handling everything without him._

_“Don’t worry about it, sugar. Give Bobby a call, I bet he can get you out there right away. And you rented this place furnished, didn’t you? I bet you can fit everything in your car and head out there tomorrow.”_

_“Uh, work.” His brain didn’t feel like it was online yet, but Missouri seemed to be able to interpret his monosyllabic phrases._

_“You work for Glenn, don’t you? I’ll call him right now. While you call Bobby. But for now, I’m gonna stay nearby, just in case. A Guide leaving her Sentinel, that ain’t something to mess with. I’m here if you need me.”_

_Dean nodded faintly, and Missouri handed him his phone. With Bobby’s number already dialed and ringing._

_“Hello?” Bobby’s voice came from the speaker._

_“Bobby?”_

_“That’s who you called. What’s going on, Dean?”_

_“Any chance you got space for me?” Dean belatedly remembered that when he finished school, Bobby wanted him to keep going, live with him, go to his school where he taught, tried his best to get him into aerospace instead of mechanical, but Dean was dead set on working in the automotive industry. Pretty set, at least._

_“‘Course. You comin’ to school?”_

_“No. Not—not yet.” The only argument Dean had for why he didn’t want to go back to school yet was that it wasn’t needed for his future employment, and come on, Bobby, Dean hates flying, could he really see Dean working in aerospace, of all fields? Bobby was pretty adamant, but it was a detente at that point._

_“I think you should consider it. But you can work in the garage if you want. While you look for a job, ‘cause I’m assuming you don’t have one out here yet.”_

_“Uh, no. Caleb’s?”_

_“That’s the one,” he paused for a moment. “Boy, I gotta ask. Why the need to get out here so quick? Don’t you_ have _a job?”_

_“Yeah, um. Yeah. My, uh, Guide? She just left. With another Sentinel.”_

_There was a long pause, and Dean checked his phone, thinking they had gotten disconnected. Then:_

_“Balls. How long ago?”_

_Missouri piped up from the kitchen area, “About two hours.”_

_How did she hear that? “Uh, two hours.”_

_“Did you zone?”_

_How the hell. “Bobby?”_

_“Did you zone, I said!”_

_“Yeah, I did.”_

_“Alright, I reckon you got about three days until it hits. ‘Course, you’re a different kind of Sentinel, ain’t you?”_

_“Uh, I guess.” Dean wasn’t really sure what Bobby was talking about, but he seemed to know it, so he just went along with it._

_“Can you be here in three days?”_

_He looked up at Missouri, who simply responded, “Tomorrow.” Okay, then._

_“I can be there tomorrow night.” Bobby was only about eight hours away, really._

_“I’ll see you then, boy. Drive safe.”_

_“‘Kay, Bobby. Thanks.”_

_“We’re family, kid. I got your back.” And then he hung up._

_“Uh, Missouri?” Dean looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen and was surprised to see his neighbor already packing it away in boxes, easily separating his belongings from the ones that came with the apartment. “What are you doing?”_

_“Getting a head start. You go strip the bed, I’ll toss those sheets, you don’t need that hoodoo in your life. You gotta get to Bobby’s as soon as you can, it’s gonna hit before he thinks it is, senses as powerful as yours. Pack up your closet and your dresser, and I’ll get the rest. We’ll get you out of here bright and early, I already settled it with your boss and the landlord.”_

_“How…”_

_“Don’t question me, you better get packing, and then you need to sleep before you can head out. And Dean?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“You take it easy with that little kit of yours, okay? You don’t have to try so hard."_

_Dean was baffled—how did she know about his kit?—but did what he was told, in a daze. He packed, he slept, Missouri finished the packing. Her nephew came while Dean was asleep and loaded his car for him (he would have been mad if he could dredge up any emotion at all, no one else was supposed to touch his baby). Dean woke up just as the guy walked out with his last box. Missouri fed him breakfast, and Dean was at Bobby’s by six the evening._

_Bobby was right that Dean was different, and Missouri was right that it would hit before Bobby predicted. He thought three days, but it was less than 36 hours before Dean was struggling to breathe through the nausea and the wave of panic that overcame him. Everything happened all at once, every sense was hit, and he blacked out._

_It turned out that when a Guide and Sentinel pair as close to Bonding as Dean and Amara were split, the pain of essentially tearing them apart was debilitating. Dean woke in bed, Bobby’s buddy Rufus, sitting at his side._

_Rufus was a Sentinel, and Dean balked. He and Rufus butted heads at the best of times._

_Fortunately, this was Bobby’s house. Not Dean’s space, and not Rufus’. They tolerated each other. Grudgingly._

_“Word is your Guide left with another Sentinel.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Sucks.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Mine died.”_

_Dean’s mouth dropped open a bit. He couldn’t even imagine what that would be like, and he never wanted to find out._

_“I reckon it’s about the same experience. A little different, but breaking a bond ain’t pretty. And you’re pretty strong, that bond ain’t gonna be weak.”_

_“We didn’t Bond. And I’m not strong, I’m just… weird.”_

_Rufus ignored his protest. “Seems like you bonded. Or maybe came close.”_

_“Yeah, we were gonna… Yeah.” They were gonna bond, but it turned out Dean couldn’t keep a Guide’s attention, so that was out the window._

_“Well, all I can tell you is it’s gonna suck. It’s gonna be senses flyin’ all over the place. You’re gonna wanna sleep most of the time while you stabilize. Bobby’ll take care of you. I know a couple Guides in the area, he’ll let me know if you zone and we’ll get one out here.”_

_“I can stop them myself. And I don’t want another Guide.”_

_Rufus snorted at him. “You can’t stop your own zones, kid. And they’re not available for bonding, anyway. But you might need help. And you might want another Guide, someday. You’re young.”_

_“No.”_

_“Alright, I can take a hint. You take care, kid.”_

_Dean spent nearly two weeks holed up in his room at Bobby’s place, dosed up on sedatives, making shallow slices on his ankles, hips, the inside of his thighs, even a couple on his arms, slowly reducing the dosage so he could function again. Missouri’s voice echoed in his head sometimes—_ you don’t have to try so hard _—but what did she know, anyway? The pain had weakened, but Rufus told him that it would take months to truly go away._

_Amara wasn’t the last Guide to leave him. That honor went to Lisa, who eventually told him he was too unreliable, she never knew where she stood with him, his senses were too volatile. When Lisa left him, it was much the same, though without the rage that came with your Guide leaving you for another Sentinel. This time it was just plain grief. He wasn’t good enough for a Guide. His dad was right. Alastair was right._

That’s it _, Dean thought._ No more Guides _._

***

He finishes telling his story to Pam. “Cas is the first Guide I’ve really let come near me since Lisa. And that was something like seven years ago.”

“But you’ve dated since then?” Pam’s in her office chair with her back turned to her computer so she can face Dean in the armchair across from her.

“A little.” Dean uncrosses his legs and then crosses them again. He doesn’t like talking about his failed relationships. “I fucked up with them, too.”

“Can I give you a recap of how I understood those relationships, just to make sure I have all the details right?”

Dean’s not sure why Pam thinks that her telling the story back to him is going to help with anything but hammering home how bad he is at keeping people around, but he tells her to go ahead anyway.

“So you finished college and met Amara, who was the first person you ever met that you could be intimate with, pain-free. And then she became controlling and untrusting, and it sounds like she may have stalked you for at least a little while.”

“We practically lived together—”

“Hold on, let me finish. She invalidated your sexuality—”

“Being bi—”

“Dean.”

He huffs, sitting back. “Fine.”

“The fact that she wanted to watch you hurt yourself and then hurt you herself is an interesting detail that I noticed you glossed over.” 

Dean does have to admit that Amara’s fascination with watching Dean shed his own blood scared him at the time. 

“But she committed the betrayal by sleeping with that other Sentinel in your apartment, did she not?”

“But why would she have done that? If I was a good enough Sentinel she never would have slept with someone else.”

“How do you feel now, talking about it?”

Dean glances at the “feelings wheel” Pam has on the wall. “Angry, I guess. Hurt. Inadequate. Confused. Really confused.”

Pam nods and waits a beat. “It was another woman.”

“Yeah. After she gave me shit for being bi. Fucking hypocritical.”

Pam gives him an understanding smile. “I get the idea that that’s the part that makes you the most angry.”

“Yeah. I’m pissed about that, actually.”

“You blame yourself for the rest of it, but the fact that it was another woman…” Pam trails off, letting him complete the thought on his own.

“The rest of it is something that was my fault.”

Pam raises her eyebrows about her dark glasses and folds her hands in her lap. “How?”

“She clearly wasn’t getting what she needed from me.” This part is so obvious to Dean that it stumps him when Pam asks her next question.

“Were you getting what you needed from her?”

Dean stares at Pam. “What?”

“Healthy relationships of any kind are reciprocal. You can’t only take and never give. And vice versa.”

What _did_ Amara give him? He pauses, unsure. “I don’t like to take.”

“I know that. But getting what you need isn’t a bad thing, you know.”

Huh. He never thought of it as “getting what he needs.” What he needed was someone to help him control his zones, the way a Guide is supposed to. And he needed someone to trust him as much as he trusted them.

“Cas gives me a lot.”

Pam nods her head in agreement. She knows Cas a little through work and it’s nice not having to try to explain him to his psychiatrist. “He does.”

“I don’t think I give him anything.”

“No?”

Dean shakes his head, and Pam gives him a moment before she continues. “I want to talk about your relationship with Lisa, too, but I’m going to give you homework this week.” Dean rolls his eyes, which makes Pamela laugh. “Don’t worry, it’s not a worksheet or anything. But I want you to think about things that you do for Cas, or things that you give to him. From what I know of your relationship, it’s not one-sided. I don’t think Cas thinks it is either. But you may need more convincing.”


	17. Chapter 17

Cas gets off the phone and sighs, which makes Dean look up from his tablet where he’s trying to source a new part for the Impala. Cas had been on the phone with his sister and had gone into Dean’s backyard to take the call, knowing that Dean would be distracted from his task, his sensitive ears hearing both ends of their conversation without even trying. The fact that Cas does that sort of thing, thinking about Dean’s needs before he needs to say anything is a courtesy he’s never experienced before, and in light of his conversation with Pam earlier in the week he appreciates it more than ever.

“That was Anna,” Cas says, closing the back door.

Dean already knows, he heard her voice when Cas answered. With the Sensinull out of the picture, his senses have become much more acute. It’s weird. He’s still adjusting. He nods, giving Cas his attention. 

Maybe that’s something for his list for Pam: he gives Cas attention. Jesus, he’s really scraping the barrel here.

“She said our mother wants us to come up to the lake house with the family this summer, and I don’t know if I want to.”

“You guys and Gabriel?” Cas has told him the three of them rarely attend these Novak family vacations, usually just their parents and Michael’s family. Their parents and brother don’t approve of the three younger Novaks being single, or Anna being single and living alone, and they definitely don’t approve of Gabe’s girlfriend Kali. Cas told him his mother said that she, “Didn’t think that girl was a good fit for Gabe; she’s not even Christian,” and Cas was indignant for weeks that his mother wouldn’t just _say_ that she didn’t approve because Kali is first-generation Indian American. 

“Yes, but also you and me."

“Uh,” Dean stalls. He didn’t know Cas's parents even knew about him.

“You’re surprised,” Cas says, his own surprise making him tilt his head in that endearing way he has that makes it so Dean can’t even be annoyed when Cas is being deliberately obtuse. “Why?”

Dean hedges, “Summer is pretty far away.”

“It’s March right now, it’s not that far away. Anna knows you most likely have to teach and will still have to work on your thesis this summer. She’s being proactive.”

“No, I mean. Yeah. I do have to work this summer, but I’ll have some time off between semesters, and for the Fourth of July and everything. But I guess I didn’t know the rest of your family knew about me.”

“You knew Anna before we even met, and you’ve met Gabriel.”

“Yeah, but like. Michael and your parents? They know?”

“Yes. I do speak to them occasionally.”

Occasionally is right. Cas doesn’t like to talk to his mom when she calls more than once a month, and Michael and Cas talk even less than that.

“Right, I know. But you told them about us?”

“Should I not have? I didn’t realize we were a secret.”

“No, I don’t mean—it’s not a _secret_ , god, obviously,” everyone in Dean’s life knows, and Cas doesn’t have that many friends, but they all know, too. He’s hung out with Gabe and Kali, and Balthazar once or twice since the “passing out in front of his class” thing. He and Meg usually snark at each other, though Cas smiles inexplicably when Meg calls him “Ken-doll” and he calls her “Hellspawn”. He seems to think they’re friends.

“Then why is it a problem?”

“I didn’t say it was a problem.”

“But you’re uncomfortable with something, I can tell.”

Dean thought he would mind more that Cas can usually tell how he’s feeling, but Cas doesn’t abuse that knowledge. Sometimes, like now, it helps that Cas isn’t going to be entirely caught off guard, and even better Dean just pretending everything is fine isn’t exactly an option when Cas can tell that something is wrong. Even if he doesn’t know what it is.

“I dunno.” He squirms a bit in his seat, feeling awkward, and tries Pam’s newest technique—using his words, “Don’t new couples usually not plan that far out?”

“We’re not that new. We’ve been friends since before Thanksgiving, and we’ve been together now for several weeks.”

Dean swallows thickly. That doesn’t mean Cas isn’t going to leave.

Sometimes, Dean thinks it would be easier if Cas _could_ just tell exactly how he’s feeling. Then he wouldn’t have to fucking _talk_ about it.

He looks away because he knows Cas won’t agree—but what if he does—, and he can’t watch what Cas's face does when he says, “Summer is still a couple of months from now, I just don’t want you to lock yourself into something you, you know. Might not want then.”

“You think I won’t want you by the time summer comes around,” Cas's voice is calm, not giving away even a hint of what he’s feeling. “Do you really think I’m just biding my time with you? Waiting for something better to come along,” which drives Dean to finally look at him.

Cas's face is saying everything his voice isn’t. His eyebrows are drawn together, his mouth in a slight frown. He knows it hurts Cas when he voices doubts like this, gives Cas an out that he insists he doesn’t want. Dean thinks Cas might stay just to prove him wrong, sometimes.

He has to be careful. He doesn’t want to argue with Cas, but he doesn’t know how to convince him he’s just looking out for Cas's best interests. “I don’t think that _you_ think that. I don’t mean to like, disregard your feelings, Pam says I do that sometimes, and I don’t—that’s not what I mean. I don’t know how to say it right.”

“Then say it wrong and we’ll figure it out. Pam’s right, it hurts when you don’t believe what I say. I’m not just ‘stringing you along.’”

“I do believe you,” Dean insists. He does. He believes that Cas loves him. Or thinks he loves him. Cas's character is not the problem here. “But, I—I don’t know that—something better is probably going to come along for you, and I don’t want to be in the way when that happens. I guess. I don’t want you to not go with the right Sentinel when they show up, just because you’re with me, and I’m even more fucked up now than when we met.”

“Dean—“

“Don’t ‘Dean’ me,” his frustration is rising with his Guide. But Cas isn’t his, dammit. He puts off the issue of Bonding every time Cas brings it up, and Dean just can’t imagine it happening. Not yet. It’s only been six weeks since he’s been free and clear of the Sensinull, and he’s still having zones, though Pam and Balthazar had been somewhat correct. Treating his anxiety and lowering his panic level has made a big difference in reducing their frequency. The problem happens with Dean. He starts to feel what he’d been taught was a zone coming on—what Pam says are his “triggers”—and he immediately reaches for his knife or the lighter. It happened yesterday while Cas was out, and the burn on the inside of his thigh is already blistered, and it didn’t even stop the zone—well. The panic attack. “You really want to be stuck with a Sentinel like this?”

“I don’t care, and—“

“And what, Cas?”

“And you wouldn’t zone if we were Bonded, Dean!”

“Alastair said—“

“ _Fuck_ Alastair White, Dean! He’s gone. He was wrong, everything he taught you was wrong, based on bogus research! I can provide you with a dozen other research sources that will tell you the same thing: the best way for an unstable Sentinel to take control of his senses is to find a Guide.”

Dean can’t help but snark back at him. “It’s not really in my control, then, is it?”

“Why does it need to be you by yourself? Why can’t you accept help?”

“If we Bond, and you leave—“

“I won’t leave—“

“And you _leave_ ,” Dean insists, “I’m not going to recover from that, you get that, right? I can’t. I’d rather die than go through anything close to that again. And I can’t be the person who keeps you around because I’d kill myself if you left. That’s not—that’s not a healthy relationship, not even close.”

Dean inhales deeply and scrunches his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to talk about this, fuck his life. “I’ve got to have some kind of self-preservation, do you get that? I’ve come so close to just ending it so that I don’t have to feel that way ever.” He’s never told anyone, not even Pam, how close he’s come. He skirted the issue with his doctors, but he’s desperate. He needs Cas to know.

Cas freezes. “What do you mean by ‘ending it,’ exactly?”

“I was so tired, before. It would’ve been so easyfor me to do it quick, bleed out before anyone could find me. It was tempting. Really tempting.”

The hitch in Cas's lungs and the racing of his heart is enough to prove to Dean that Castiel hadn’t known about any of that before. 

They’re silent, Dean doesn’t know what else to say, and obviously, Cas is still thinking about his response. That’s his thinking face. Dean’s sure he’s going to tell him to go, that this is it. Cas can handle it, he’s sure, but why would he want to? No one signs up to deal with a fucked up Sentinel. Or boyfriend.

“I’ve met a lot of Sentinels.”

Dean doesn’t really know what Cas wants him to say to that. “Okay.”

“When I say that I mean it, and not as hyperbole. In my line of work, it’s difficult not to. I’ve met some very weak Sentinels that didn’t even know about their abilities before they came to the ER, and I’ve met some incredibly strong ones, the first ones I ever resonated even a little bit with.” Cas swallows but continues speaking, watching Dean. “You’re right, in that I might find another Sentinel I resonate with. Someone stronger might come along. But I think you’re missing some essential pieces.

“I’m not _looking_ for a stronger Sentinel. Or any Sentinel, really, except for the one sitting right here. I’ve never looked for a Sentinel. I always knew I could get by without one. But then, I’m not a very good Guide, Dean, don’t forget that.”

Dean looks aghast. “What the hell do you mean, you’re not a good Guide?” Cas is the best Guide he’s ever worked with. He’s not been Guided often, but in his experience, Cas is the best.

“I don’t mean to say that I am incapable of being a Guide, but I am not a desirable Guide for most Sentinels. I’ve never come close to bonding with one, even the ones I resonated with… it was a trying process to make a connection strong enough to feel their emotions and read their senses.”

“You’ve never had difficulty with me.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Cas looks steadily at Dean, “Getting to know you as a person has only ever intensified what I feel for you. And believe me when I say that I know myself. I know my own feelings, and how they change. They will never change, not for you.”

Dean can’t help but begin to believe Cas. A part of him definitely believes that Cas will leave, but a growing part of him is starting to think that maybe, just maybe. He’ll stay.

“Pam says I have trust issues.”

“You think?”

“Alright, Mr. Sarcasm, I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Well, I think I’m maybe starting to? I can’t promise a Bond soon, but I’ll—I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“No, it’s not. But that’s okay. You’re allowed to ask more. Sometimes you do so much for me, you know, and I don’t know what I can possibly do for you. Bonding’s all about me and fixing my issues, I dunno what you’re getting out of it besides, you know. Me.”

“That’s not enough?”

Dean has to stop himself from saying, “Not really, no,” out loud, but he can’t quite stop the words in his mind, and Cas must feel something because the instant Dean thinks that, Cas steps forward into his space, wrapping his arms around Dean’s body. Dean feels the instant relief of having a Guide with him, the feeling of being hugged by Cas is one filled with security and comfort rather than the overwhelming desire to escape he feels when nearly anyone else does the same thing. Though in the weeks since Dean was in the hospital, it’s improved, just like most other things. He tolerates a lot more sensory input now, more than he has in most of his life.

“You’re still too skinny,” Cas admonishes.

Dean holds back his smile a little, “Yeah, but my boyfriend thinks I’m hot.”

“Your boyfriend would think you were hot if you weighed five pounds or five hundred. What do you want for dinner?”

“Your dick.”

Since that first time Dean and Cas had sex after the kitchen argument, Dean’s been insatiable. And it’s only gotten better the more stable Dean’s senses have become. Dean craves the feeling of Cas inside of him, is able to feel every bump and ridge of Cas's cock when he really focuses. And then Cas feels an echo of Dean’s sensations, and if they focus just right, it becomes the best kind of feedback loop that sends them both flying high. Dean never wants it to stop, it feels like he’s breaking open, but Cas is the light getting through the cracks.

It’s intense, to say the least.

“Not enough calories,” Cas smirks, and Dean renews his firm appreciation of Cas's dirty mind, but rolls his eyes anyway.

“You wanna go out?”

“Do you feel up to it?”

“Yeah, actually.” Dean’s feeling pretty solid. Nothing’s been crazy. He’s worked from home most of the day, so the sensory input hasn’t taxed him much. Besides, Pam says his control needs to be exercised, just like a muscle.

They decide to go out for Mexican food, or as close as they can get in their town. It’s not terribly authentic; the cheesy looking maracas on the menu make Dean roll his eyes, and Cas always frowns at the one waiter who always wears a sombrero. Dean has to stop him from giving the fifteen-year-old kid a lecture about cultural appropriation, though he thinks he might have to let Cas do it at some point. It’s getting a little ridiculous, but the guacamole is the best Dean’s had in the area, and Cas loves their tortilla soup.

They don’t exactly need to dress up to go out, but both of them have been home all day, so Dean hasn’t even gotten dressed, much less showered. And Cas worked outside for a couple of hours, so they both end up taking a quick shower. Which takes slightly longer because they spend some time teasing each other and then Cas gets on his knees to finish Dean off. And they can’t not make out for a little while after that. 

Eventually, they’re both dressed. Dean in a Jess-approved pair of black chinos and his much-loved chambray shirt with a baseball cap. Cas ends up borrowing one of the few pairs of chino shorts and a t-shirt that Dean owns, along with his own pair of TOMs shoes he's got sitting around, and they head out the door.

Dean’s also finally been allowed to drive again, and fortunately, there have been no issues with zoning while driving his baby. Thank god.

At the restaurant, Dean instantly feels weird. The thing is, he’s not sure what it means. Something’s weird, though.

“Hey,” Cas's voice interrupts his internal search for why something feels wrong, and he realizes they’ve been seated, which is weird. He must've been starting to actually zone, too focused on whatever the weird feeling is to notice everything going on around him.

“Hi.” Dean smiles reassuringly at him, though he still feels distracted.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Something’s weird, but I’m not sure what.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure. I’m trying to figure out what sense it even triggered because all I can tell is… weird. There’s nothing else yet.”

“Hm. Is it overwhelming?”

“No. I dunno.” He distractedly places his hand on the table and realizes he’s run the palm of his hand through something he identifies as a spilled margarita from whoever sat at the table right before them. He must be distracted. He should’ve noticed that. He holds his hand up and makes a face at Cas. “I’m gonna go wash my hands.”

Cas grimaces at him playfully and tells him he’ll have someone come by and wash the table. “You want me to come with you? Since you’re feeling weird.”

“Nah, I’m not overwhelmed. If I’m not back in ten minutes then you can look for me, dude.”

He begins weaving towards the bathroom in the back, but he stops. The feeling is a little stronger now, and it’s definitely something he’s smelling. Sugar? Not enough sugar? It gets stronger when he walks toward the right side of the place, and his nose leads him to a table where a woman is sitting alone.

“Can I help you?” She’s understandably alarmed that a strange man has walked right up to her table and is staring at her, Dean thinks, but he’s still distracted. She doesn’t look wrong, but the smell. The smell is wrong. Sugar, again. Maybe burnt? Or like, if someone replaced all the sugar with salt or something. 

“Look, this is weird, but uh. Are you diabetic?”

She almost looks too surprised to answer with anything but the truth. “How did you know that?”

“Sugar.”

“What” 

Oh, that was a weird answer. He tries again. “Sorry. Are you feeling okay? Do you need me to call anyone?”

“Um. I’m fine. Why?”

He sniffs again, and the sugar smell feels like it’s burning his nose. He abruptly realizes Cas is coming up behind him.

“Dean?”

“The weird feeling, it’s um. Sugar? It’s a smell. And it’s definitely her. She’s diabetic. It’s like burnt sugar. And she’s diabetic.”

“Sugar.” Cas looks appraisingly at Dean, and the woman is definitely getting uncomfortable. Dean can’t blame her, this must look really weird.

“Look, guys, I don’t know what your deal is, but can you just go?”

Cas takes over, and Dean is glad because he can’t really think past the thought of “Sugar, it’s something with sugar.”

“I’m sorry if this is strange, miss. But my boyfriend is a Sentinel. You’re diabetic, you said? Have you checked your blood sugar?”

“I checked it twenty minutes ago.”

“Check it again,” Dean says, suddenly feeling urgent. “Check again.”

The woman rolls her eyes, but Dean sees the way her interest piqued when Cas told her he was a Sentinel, and she pulls out what must be her glucose meter. Dean watches eagerly as she tests her blood, and when the number comes through, her eyes widen. Cas peeks over her shoulder and immediately takes action.

“Do you have a glucagon injection with you?” Cas asks. When the woman shakes her head, he swears. “My name is Dr. Castiel Novak. I work as a trauma surgeon at the university hospital,” he shows her his badge from his wallet. “I fear your blood sugar is about to slip dangerously low, and you either need a glucagon injection immediately or you need to come to the hospital. You’re at risk for falling into a diabetic coma.”

Dean is in shock. What? All because he smelled burnt sugar?

“Would you prefer I called an ambulance, or can I take you there right now?”

“I’ve got glucose tablets…”

“Yes, take one, but that won’t be enough at this point, it’s not going to stabilize enough in fifteen minutes, trust me. Do you want an ambulance or a ride?” 

“A ride, I guess.” She’s suddenly looking very pale, and Dean realizes her sugar is dropping even more.

“—Cas—”

“I know, Dean, we’re less than five minutes away. Let’s go.”

Dean grabs a couple of twenties out of his wallet and throws them on the table, then helps Cas rush the lady out of the restaurant. She’s begun stumbling a little bit, and she’s muttering to herself, Dean hears her saying, “Shit, fuck, oh fuck,” over and over. Cas gets the two of them into the back seat, and Dean hops in the front.

“Right to the emergency entrance, Dean. I’m calling ahead so they’ll expect us.”

Dean drives like a bat out of hell and gets them to the hospital in under three minutes. Cas has barely hung up the phone when he’s swerving into the lot. He throws the car into park right at the entrance, and there’s already a gurney and a couple of people waiting for them.

The men and women in scrubs bustle her onto the gurney, and someone’s already waiting with another blood test. They check it and then someone jabs her in the thigh with what Cas explains is glucagon, and they take her into the hospital. Dean and Cas stand there for a moment staring after her until Cas turns to him and gives him a hug.

“She’s going to be fine, Dean. Holy shit.”

“Woah,” is all Dean can say. That happened so quickly he’s still trying to process it all. He hugs Cas back.

“How did you know she was going to have an episode?”

“I don’t know, she just smelled weird.”

“You might have just saved her life.”

Holy shit is right. “Thank god you knew what to do. I just stood there like an idiot.”

“Thank god you noticed.”

They move to get back in the car, but then someone calls, “Novak!” from over by the entrance to the hospital. It’s Balthazar, and he barely reaches them when he blurts, “What the hell happened?”

“We were at that Mexican place down the road. Dean thought something smelled weird, and it turned out that woman was about to have a hypoglycemic episode.”

“Nice job, Winchester. You’re basically a service dog.”

“What?”

Cas rolls his eyes, but Dean can tell he wants to laugh.

***

Dean’s taking Castiel and Sam on a tour of the engineering labs, when he turns his head to the left quickly, mutters, “Oh, fuck,” and takes off running down the hallway.

Castiel quickly catches on to his alarm and gives chase. He’s vaguely aware of Sam following behind him and hears him say, “Cas, what the hell—” when they both hear a deep rumble and then a loud crash.

Cas's heart is in his throat, but they turn the next corner to see Dean and another student looking very dusty and laying on the floor, the student apparently shocked into stillness, Dean breathing heavily and starting to stand up. 

An alarm sounds from within an adjacent room, and students come spilling out, but Castiel and Sam are still absolutely clueless as to what happened.

“Oh my god—”

“—Jason!”

“Mr. Winchester!”

“Did you see that? It totally just collapsed—”

“Get out of the way!” Cas hears the unmistakable sound of Bobby’s voice and sees his ball cap as he pushes through the students milling in the hallway. When he gets to Dean and the other student—Jason, presumably—he looks them up and down. “Everyone okay?”

“Yeah, I think we’re okay. Jason, you hit your head or anything?”

Jason seems a little bewildered. Dean looks up and meets Cas's gaze, and he motions with his head to come over.

“Cas, any way you can check Jason here over real quick? I think he’s okay, but might as well make sure.”

Castiel nods and does a cursory examination. Jason seems fine, simply stunned.

“What happened in there?” Bobby asks Dean, taking in the students’ shocked faces and the small-scale piston engines at each workstation, all but forgotten in the heat of the moment.

“The pressure was too high. Someone must have fucked up their calculations or something, or the piston malfunctioned—either way it wasn’t going to hold the platform level, it was way overpowered. Good thing you guys were working on a small scale. I felt the vibration and the pressure change and raced over here before I even realized what was about to happen, I think. Grabbed Jason out from under there and high-tailed it out before it blew.”

Bobby’s looking at Dean appraisingly. Dean’s busy checking in with Jason to see the proud look on Bobby’s face.

Castiel can’t help but be proud. Dean wouldn’t have been able to feel that and interpret it a few months, or even several weeks ago. Whether or not he realizes it, he’s becoming a Sentinel worth admiring.

“Alright, alright everyone. Get in there and figure out where you went wrong, and be glad Winchester here was in the building to save your asses. Everyone involved in this project has extra homework tonight—”

And just like that, Bobby’s got their attention. Sam is staring open-mouthed at his brother, and Castiel can’t help but think that Dean’s looking accomplished, proud that he’d been able to help someone using his abilities in a meaningful way—this is what Dean’s always wanted to be able to do as a Sentinel.

“Holy shit, Dean. That was incredible.” Sam finally blurts out, and Dean just shrugs.

“It wasn’t anything—”

“If you tell me that wasn’t anything special, I swear to god I’m going to kick your ass. Are you kidding me? Oh my god,” Sam looks like he has a sudden realization, and he bursts out laughing, “you’re not Batman, you’re Daredevil!”

Dean looks offended by that, but Cas has no idea what Sam means, except that he knows Dean loves Batman.

“You little shit, come here!”


	18. Chapter 18

“Cas, are you—are you really sure? Like, really?” Dean’s looking a little bit unsteady, but Castiel simply nods his head. He’s sure. He’s been sure since the day he met Dean, and impossibly, he’s even more sure than he was that day.

They’re Bonding. They’re finally going to do it.

“You really want me to…”

“Yes. I want you to do it.”

Bonding is strange, Castiel supposes. It’s the one thing that all Sentinels and Guides instinctively know how to do. Dean did some research as a way to prepare as well, Castiel knows, but it’s largely instinctual. And difficult to explain.

Dean is going to commit Castiel to his senses. He’s going to touch, taste, and smell every inch of Castiel he can reach. And the part that Castiel doesn’t really understand—because he’s not a Sentinel—is how this differs from when Dean explores his body during sex, but Dean assures him it’s different. That he engages his abilities more intentionally for this. And he’ll do it while Cas is doing his thing, too.

Because Castiel has a role to play. 

While Dean is exploring every inch of him, he’s going to be opening himself up to every part of Dean he can feel with his own unique abilities. And though science has never been able to explain it sufficiently, it’s a phenomenon that every Sentinel and Guide pair can feel viscerally when it happens—they’ll Bond. They’ll be able to feel each other acutely. And given how acute their senses of each other already are, it promises to be intense. Castiel will be able to feel every emotional reaction Dean has while he’s doing his exploring, and Dean will be able to notice every single thing about Castiel he can find. 

And then it happens.

Naturally, Castiel is slightly nervous. It’s a big step to take in a Sentinel-Guide pairing. But he and Dean have learned—are still learning—to trust one another implicitly. Castiel can sense Dean’s fear, a small worry in the back of his mind that Castiel is going to walk away, and the more they discussed it the more they realized the only way to really quell that fear is to finally Bond. So they set a date, and here they are, together in their room. Castiel having already moved his things the few blocks to Dean’s home.

“Dean.” Castiel whispers his name. “I trust you.”

Dean breathes deep and nods, pulling Castiel close to him where they’re standing next to the bed and bends his head down as he wraps his arms around Castiel, and inhales deeply.

“Mine.”

“Yes, yours. My Sentinel.”

“My Guide.”

Dean continues breathing deeply against the crook of Castiel’s neck, and then they move back, slowly together, completely in sync. Dean lowers Castiel onto the bed behind him, and Castiel moving backward so that their bodies are both fully on the bed, and then Dean more or less dives in. He rushes to remove the sweatpants Cas is wearing, along with the t-shirt, and divests himself of his minimal clothing as well.

From his initial position breathing Castiel in at his neck, Dean slowly moves down and across, smelling, looking, and oh god, he’s _tasting_ Castiel, his tongue and plush lips moving across Castiel’s chest agonizingly slowly.

“Dean,” Castiel knows Dean’s barely begun, but he’s already feeling overcome.

“Shh,” Dean hushes him. “Open up, Cas.”

From somewhere deep inside himself, Cas opens to Dean. The sensation is completely new. He’s never been so vulnerable, and he feels _everything_ that Dean is feeling, all of the hope and love that Dean’s never felt comfortable expressing. He feels the extreme focus Dean has on his current task, where he’s moving slowly down Castiel’s forearm, tasting the cotton from his discarded shirt, the soap he used when he took a shower that morning. Castiel feels his gratitude for him, for sticking with him, for rescuing him from himself when he didn’t think he deserved it, he feels Dean’s deep, deep pride in his brother Sam, and the complicated love that he feels for his father. He feels the remembrance that Dean has of his mother, filled with warmth and spice and apple pie. 

Castiel gets echoes of all of these sensations, and it feels like he could drown in the warm feeling.

Along with all of those warm feelings are the things he knows Dean doesn’t like Castiel to know he’s feeling. The hatred that Dean used to feel about his Sentinel abilities. The self-loathing he still feels, about the way he thinks he allowed Alastair and his father to hurt him for so many years, the shameful pride he felt in Alastair’s praise of Dean’s technique with a blade, and the hurt that he put Sam through by being unable to control himself. The deep fear that he’ll never be good enough for Castiel, he’ll never measure up to Sam’s picture of him, he’ll never be worthy of being a husband or father.

Castiel cries. It’s so very painful for him to realize that these feelings are inside Dean all the time, even when he’s happy and in love. Dean doesn’t feel that he deserves the love that Castiel has for him, for only Dean, and it brings him a sharp stab of what feels like physical pain, a gaping wound that he wants to fill with his adoration for this man, who he wants to be he his, his husband, and one day, perhaps a father.

Dean gasps and Castiel knows that he’s feeling everything that Castiel is processing, the negatives, and the positives, and everywhere in between, and Castiel opens himself up further, feels like he’s loosening the laces on whatever it is that keeps him whole because it feels like he and Dean are one person, feeling all the same sensations and affections, and they can barely tell where one of them ends and the other begins. 

Castiel has never really known what it’s like to fall into a trance. He’s never really understood how people can become so absorbed in a blank mind that they don’t notice time passing, but it’s the only thing he can compare it to. But later. Later, he’ll think it’s amazing how he didn’t notice Dean moving him into different positions, he didn’t notice the time going by, too absorbed in Dean. Soaking up everything he can about his Sentinel. He never wants to lose this man, and the more mature the bond, the deeper their connection, the easier it will be for him to find his Sentinel anywhere.

Finally, the pair of them begin to surface, and Cas realizes that he’s moved to his side, angled so he’s leaning a bit toward his stomach, knee lifted a bit to brace his body against the bed, and Dean’s body is draped over his, holding him securely in his arms, so that Dean’s front is lined up with Cas’s back, touching all along their bodies, everywhere it’s possible. Dean nuzzling the back of his neck. 

“Smell so good, Cas.” It’s been hours, possibly, if the light outside the window is anything to go by. It felt like only moments.

Dean’s imprinted all of Castiel into his mind, by this point. He’ll be able to find his Guide anywhere, no matter how far away, will be able to identify his Guide blindfolded, unerringly.

Castiel’s end will take longer to mature. They’ve known each other for a while now, so maybe not as long as some pairs, but Castiel will eventually be even more attuned to Dean’s emotions and thoughts; some Sentinel-Guide pairs are able to communicate via the Sentinel’s thoughts, and Cas can’t wait to see if they’re like that. He thinks they might be.

***

Dean isn’t sure how he was supposed to know that bonding has a positive effect on Guides, too.

“You mean you can tell what everyone is feeling?” Dean and Cas are laying in bed, Dean’s got Cas in his arms. He’s not sure if he prefers this or being held since both are amazing, but he definitely enjoys getting to cover Castiel with himself, he supposes it probably fulfills some kind of protection instinct that Sentinels have, letting him be a little extra possessive of his Guide.

“Only a little. Sometimes if I touch them I get a general sense of their mood or personality. I always have to some extent, but it’s definitely been amplified. I would never share the information that I glean from these interactions, however. Just because I know how someone is feeling doesn’t give me permission to share that information. I have ethics, you know.”

“Obviously you have ethics. You’re the most ethical person I know.”

Going back to work was interesting for both of them. Cas told him that while he’d always thought he had good control over his empathic nature since they bonded, he feels like he’s been able to engage it during his work in a way that he hadn’t before. He didn’t even realize he had been feeling a level of emotional distress all this time, not until it was gone.

And Dean suddenly feels kind of normal. It's weird, not feeling like he has to be hypervigilant. He doesn’t feel like he could fly into a panic attack or zone at any provocation. He certainly has his moments with his heightened senses, but he doesn’t feel like it’s taking over anymore. It’s just part of him. Yesterday, while shopping with Jess, one of the women holding perfume bottles sprayed him, and while he sneezed for what felt like an hour, there was no overstimulation. He was even able to relax most of the rules for his classes.

He feels less like a liability, and more like a person.

“I almost feel like I should’ve known about you, after knowing Sam.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve always been able to sense him much more than others, besides maybe Anna and Gabriel. I think because the two of you are so closely linked.”

“So, you can tell me what Sam’s thinking?”

“No. And _ethics_.”

Dean definitely doesn’t pout, but he also doesn’t _not_ pout. “You’re supposed to love me the most.”

“Of course I love you the most.”

Just hearing Cas say that and knowing that he means it, fills Dean with a warmth that starts in his spine and spreads through his whole body. He might never get sick of hearing Cas say it, even though it’s hard for him to accept. Cas _loves_ him. Dean. Cas loves Dean, even though Dean is just… Dean. He’s nothing, but Cas loves him anyway.

“Hey,” Cas turns in his arms and frowns at Dean, wrapping his own arms around Dean so they’re holding each other. “None of that.”

Caught again. Cas always catches him. “Huh?”

“Whatever you were just thinking. Something bad about yourself. Stop it.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Aren’t I?”

Dean stares at him with wide eyes, and yeah, his cock might twitch a little, so sue him. Cas is hot as fuck, and Dean likes it when his Guide shows how easy it is for him to bring Dean to heel.

“Lay on your stomach.” Cas unwinds himself from Dean so that he can lay down, and once he’s got his arms folded underneath him, Cas straddles Dean’s ass, his stiffening cock pressed firmly against the curve of Dean’s body, almost—but not quite—where Dean wants him.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, his hips moving slightly.

“Shh. Let me undress you.” Cas’s hands still Dean’s hips, and then help him remove his shirt and loose-fitting pants. He moves away for a moment, and when he comes back he’s still wearing soft pants, but he’s not wearing a shirt. He maneuvers a pillow under Dean’s head, Dean’s arms fold underneath it, his head turned to the side.

Dean will never get used to this. Past lovers, even Amara and Lisa, they never felt like this. Even when it didn’t hurt, even when it was good, it didn’t feel like _this_.

Cas touches Dean like it’s a privilege, runs his fingers lightly over the strong muscles in Dean’s back to make him shiver, presses deeper to make him moan. Dean can practically feel the pleasure Cas is getting from it, the way they connect when they’re together like this makes it so Dean gets faint echoes of emotions from Cas, and it’s a heady feeling.

“You’re everything to me,” Cas whispers, leaning down to kiss Dean between his shoulder blades. Dean feels his stomach clench at the sentiment. He’s not _everything_ , he’s _nothing_ , but he can almost believe it when Cas says it. “Hm,” Cas considers, clearly recognizing Dean’s resistance, “tonight, I want you to listen to me. And I don’t want you to talk. I just want you to listen. Do you understand?”

Dean nods and moans softly again when Cas rocks his hips against him, his cock fully hard but still trapped because Cas isn’t naked yet. He feels some trepidation at the prospect of not being allowed to talk, but it’s also exciting. He knows that if he truly needed to stop, Cas would probably know about it before he even realizes. 

“Good. You’re so good, Dean.” Oh, that’s why Cas doesn’t want him to talk. Cas sucks another kiss onto his upper back, hands rubbing lightly, and Dean thinks the only thing that would make it better might be some massage oil.

Dean hears a soft laugh come from the man straddling him and knows that Cas caught at least some of that, understood something of Dean’s desires, and that’s confirmed when Cas leans away for a moment and Dean hears the sound of a jar unscrewing. There’s a familiar scent in the air, and Dean smiles when Cas’s hands return with a scoop of coconut oil that melts quickly into the heat of Dean’s back and Cas’s hands. 

It’s heaven, and Dean floats. And Cas starts talking. 

“I adore you. You’re so strong, you’ve been so strong for your entire life. Your body is beautiful, of course—” _it’s not_ , Dean thinks. Not with all those scars. “—beautiful, Dean. I mean it. Your scars are battle wounds, and they’re part of you. I love every part of you, I promise.”

Dean wants to refute him on every point, but he’s not allowed. Cas stays silent for a few minutes, working his way down Dean’s back, slowly beginning at the dip in his spine, then lower still. He thinks he should maybe feel embarrassed about it feeling so good to have Cas’s hands massaging the firm muscle of his ass, but he can’t make himself care. It feels too good.

Cas gathers more oil, and after continuing his massage for a few more minutes, he guides Dean’s legs apart so that he can look his fill. With a flush on his face and a moan, Dean tilts his hips invitingly. Just because Cas forbade him to speak doesn't mean he can’t make his desires known.

“Oh, Dean, You’re so good. You know what I want, don’t you?” Cas has a thing for fingering Dean, which is fortunate because Dean has a thing for Cas’s fingers inside him. He whimpers when Cas rubs firmly over his hole with one finger but doesn’t push in. 

“You’re so giving, Dean. You know exactly what I want, and you want to give it to me. I want to worship you. You deserve to feel every ounce of pleasure I know how to give you and more.”

Dean swallows hard, listening to Cas talk. It’s a complicated feeling he’s having about all the praise heaped on him; part of him loves it, craves it, but the other part of him is squirming in discomfort. He hasn’t done anything to earn it yet. He’s trying to learn to _take_ what Cas gives, just like Pam said. The best and worst part of it is that he knows Cas means every word that he’s saying. Because Cas doesn’t lie. Even when it hurts.

“You’ve been hurt in the past, and you’ve never deserved any of it. I wish I could ensure that no one would ever hurt you ever again, you deserve to feel loved every moment of every day. I treasure you.” Cas’s finger, which has been torturously rubbing up and down, back and forth over his hole and driving Dean insane, pushes in, and Dean can’t help the whine that comes out, the shuddering breath that follows, the roll of his hips as he tries to take Cas deeper, his fingers and Dean’s skin has absorbed most of the coconut oil, and so the friction is just on the right side of rough.

“You’re so pretty, Dean, and especially like this. My pretty boy, my good boy,” Dean gasps as Cas slowly pushes in a second finger, as much a reaction to the stretch as it is to Cas calling him his _good boy_. Jesus, he didn’t realize that was a thing, but it so is a thing, and he needs more.

“Do you like being my good boy, Dean? You may speak.”

“Yes, I love it, I love it so much, let me be good for you,” Dean pants as Cas scissors his fingers along Dean’s inner walls, occasionally pulling more sounds from him when he passes over his prostate.

“Shh, good boy, time to be quiet now. You’re doing so good, you’re always so good for me,” more oil, another finger, and Dean moans and whines, wants to get up onto his knees, but Cas is still sitting on his legs and he can’t move.

Dean’s beginning to feel overwhelmed, in the best way. He never thought being overwhelmed could be _good_ , but there’s no other word for it. He’s clawing slowly at the mattress, hands still under the pillow at his head, pressing his cheek against it in a bid to feel more. He’s torn between the feeling of rolling his hips forward, rubbing his cock against their soft sheets or backward, making Cas’s fingers go just a little deeper, which, _oh fuck_. Undecided, he rolls his hips continuously, feeling the ebb and flow of pleasure as Cas stretches him and pumps his fingers in and out, but it’s not enough, he needs more.

“Look at you. I can’t believe you’re mine. My Sentinel. You chose me, out of thousands you could be with, you chose me, and I feel so lucky that I’m the one who gets to bring you pleasure. I’m the one who gets to see my good boy swallow my fingers and stretch so nicely, so ready for my cock.” Cas pushes in a fourth finger, and Dean can’t help the sound that comes out of his mouth, definitely doesn’t mean to make a guttural moan that seems to have come from somewhere deep inside him, but with the stretch of Castiel’s fingers, he knows he’s going to be ready to take Castiel’s cock, and he wants it now, begs Castiel for it the only way he knows how.

He whines and whimpers tilting his hips up as far as possible. He tries to pull his legs out from under Cas so that he can get his knees under himself so that he can spread as wide as possible and get Cas as deep as he can possibly go. Cas shifts his weight, and Dean doesn’t wait for him to pull his fingers out, getting on his knees, shoulders still pressed down to the mattress and shifting his knees as wide as possible.

“So pretty, look, all spread out for me.” Dean hears the pop of a cap opening. He doesn’t even know when Cas grabbed the actual lube from the nightstand but doesn’t care to think about it when he feels the press of Cas’s cock again, but this time it’s bare and rubbing against his hole, catching on the rim. Dean moans again at the feeling and pushes back as though he could get it inside him if he just pushes hard enough. “Shh, good boy, I’ve got what you need,” Cas says, slowly pushing in.

Dean’s mind turns to mush. All the praise, all the _sensation_ , he basks in it, unthinking. He only wants more. More pleasure, more Cas, more anything.

The downside to having gotten up on his knees is that now he doesn’t have anything to rub his cock against. Cas takes mercy on him and strokes him a few times, but then he leans down to Dean’s ear, putting his whole weight into pushing his cock deep into Dean’s ass to whisper in his ear. “I want you to come on just my cock, can you do that?”

Dean nods, frantically. He’s done it once or twice, and tonight definitely feels like he barely needs much else, he feels so close.

Dean loves when Cas fucks him. Sometimes it’s soft and sweet, face to face with lots of kissing, sometimes it’s rough, and Dean after finds bruises on his hip bones and scratches on his back.

Tonight it’s slow, but it’s hard. And it’s deep. The lube slicks the way far more efficiently than the coconut oil, staying wet for longer, and some part of Dean absently thanks Cas for having both nearby, but then Cas gives another firm thrust and Dean’s mind melts just a bit more. Cas pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then almost as slow, he presses back inside Dean, the last inch a hard shove and dirty grind that makes him feel like he’s choking on Cas’s dick.

“God, Dean. You feel so wet, so soft, so good. You’re perfect.”

He’s so close to coming, he just needs a little more, a little deeper, and Cas _knows,_ of course, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him up so Dean is upright on his knees, his back to Cas’s front so he can fuck himself dow that much deeper onto Cas’s cock. He grinds himself into Cas’s lap. Cas holds his hips and helps him bounce on his cock, pulling him down hard every time, somehow rubs _just there_ against his prostate and Dean makes little _unh, unh, unh_ sounds that he usually feels self-conscious about but he doesn’t tonight, not with Cas breathing hard into his ear. 

He feels a tightening, low in his belly. His balls draw up slightly, and he comes with a loud moan, Cas fucking him all the way through it.

“ _Tight_ , so tight, Dean, good boy, you feel so good, you’re perfect…” he groans softly into Dean’s ear, pulls him tight down onto his lap, as deep as possible, and comes, filling Dean in the most satisfying way. Dean relishing the feeling, knowing he’d be slick and open if Cas wants a second round. 

They collapse on the bed, Cas draped over Dean, his cock softening inside of him, but he doesn’t pull out, not yet. Dean thinks Cas must have some kind of inkling of Dean’s kinks even though they haven’t talked about them.

“Wow,” Dean breathes. There’s really nothing else to say.

“Seconded,” Cas responds, and Dean laughs even though he’s tired. How this guy can be such a dork but also such a sex god, he’ll never know.

“I love you,” Dean turns his head around, tries to catch a glimpse of his blue-eyed Guide, and finds him in the perfect spot for a few kisses.

“I love you.”


	19. Chapter 19

Dean hears the _thump thump thump thump thump_ that signals his little girl running barefoot down the hallway, and he makes the split-second decision to pretend to be asleep where he’s laying on the couch. He keeps his eyes closed, but he watches all the same.

Billie stops in the doorway and giggles when she notices him on the couch. Not letting his amusement show on his face takes a lot of concentration, but not so much that he doesn’t know the second she makes the decision to go for it. She sprints as fast as her little three-year-old legs can carry her, and makes a flying leap for the couch and her dad’s torso. Fortunately, Dean’s ready for her, and she can’t do that much damage to him.

“Arrrrrggghhh!” he’s as theatrical as possible for her benefit, and it’s sort of fun to growl like a monster, he thinks, and startles, sitting up on the couch. Billie twists and darts behind his back, giggling non-stop, and he thinks it might be his favorite sound in the world.

He hears his husband’s footsteps coming down the hallway next, he probably sent Billie ahead of him with a mission to find her Daddy. Dean would know he was smiling even if he didn’t already feel the warm happy glow coming from his direction, and he stands from the couch with his daughter’s tiny arms wrapped around his neck, her legs wrapped around his chest stop her from choking him. Much. He braces her legs with his hands to keep her stable.

“Cas! You gotta help me!”

“What seems to be the problem?”

Billie giggles from behind him, and he winks at Cas.

“I dunno, man. Is there something behind me?” He spins around, quick. Billie screams with laughter.

“I’m not sure, but I think there might be. You should check again.”

Dean does another fast turn, and Billie can’t contain herself.

“Daddy! I am here! Behind you!”

“What?” Dean gasps, “Where?”

“Here!”

“Who’s there?” Dean whips around again, and Cas laughs at the silly picture Dean and Billie make.

“Me! Me!”

“I don’t think I know anyone named ‘me’… I think I’m gonna…” He swings around as if to catch someone in the act, and shouts, “Aha!” and groans when no one is there.

“Daddy!”

“Billie!”

“Me! Daddy! It’s Billie!”

“Uh oh. I think I’m goin’ down!” And he collapses (gently) onto the couch, pretending to crush her beneath him without actually putting his weight on her. It’s a delicate balance, helped by Cas grabbing his outstretched hand and pulling him up, this time without a little dark-haired girl on his back. “There she is!” And he jumps in to tickle her.

His favorite times are with these two. Having a three-year-old daughter is a fuck ton of work, but for times like this when they get to just be silly together, he’ll endure a hundred more preschool interviews. He scoops her into his arms and gives her an over-the-top kiss on her cheek that makes her giggle again.

“So, what have you two been up to, huh?” He kisses Cas on the cheek too, and the three of them wander down to the kitchen. He knows Cas is hungry, and Billie always wants a snack if someone else is having one.

“Working,” is the answer Billie gives him, and Cas agrees with her.

“Yes, we’ve been working very hard. She practiced with her scissors some more. They’re still a bit tricky, but Miss. Hannah sent home some of those cutting papers, right Billie?”

“Yup.” She agrees with her Papa, while Dean plops her down in her booster seat at the island counter. “I want cookies.”

“That’s ‘cause you got your uncle Gabe’s sweet tooth. But nope. Try again.”

“Fish?”

“Goldfish comin’ right up. Pretzels or cheese?”

She considers for a moment, then makes her choice. “Pretzels. Mustard?”

“Billie,” Cas says, a stern tone to his voice, “manners.” Dean rolls his eyes with his back turned toward his little family so Billie doesn’t see. He and Cas disagreed on the importance of the “manners” thing, but he let Cas have his way. He’d rather have his kid be overly polite than rude when push comes to shove.

“Pretzel fish ’n mustard, please.”

“Very good, sweetheart.” Dean smiles at the domesticity of it all, just like he does nearly every day at these mundane activities. Cas kisses her on the top of her head, her two bushy little buns getting in his way only a little.

When they had found out that the adoption agency had been contacted by a girl who picked their file, they were ecstatic. Their caseworker also told them the mother and father were black and was that going to be a problem?

_“Why would that be a problem?”_

_“Some families prefer their child to be the same race as them.”_

_“They refuse a baby because they’re a different race?” Cas is indignant on the behalf of the babies who didn’t get adopted. If Dean’s honest with himself, he’s a little mad about it, too. People suck._

_“Cas, babe. It’s not her fault people are bigoted assholes.” Cas shakes his head a bit to clear it and smiles an apology at the caseworker. “When can we meet them?”_

They had met two days later, and even if they hadn’t exactly hit it off—the father of the fifteen-year-old pregnant girl glared at them practically the whole time, but Dean figures he was probably just watching out for her—Jessi was a sweet girl, and she obviously wasn’t ready to be a parent at fifteen. She approved them, and three hectic months later, they got to take Billie home.

One night, though, Dean woke up to find Cas sitting up with his tablet in his hands, headphones in his ears.

_“Cas? What are you doin’ up?”_

_“I don’t know how to do Billie’s hair!”_

_Dean’s not even awake yet, but Cas is freaking out. Also, what? “Billie barely even has hair, dude.”_

_“When she’s older, Dean! I don’t know how to style hair! And I definitely don’t know how to do Billie’s hair! What if we don’t do her hair right and we ruin it?”_

_“Dude, calm down. Billie’s hair is a different texture, but she’s not a fucking alien.”_

_“Hair plays a major role in Black history!”_

_“I don’t even know what you’re talking about, but here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna put the iPad away,” he pries the device from Cas’s hands and takes away his headphones, setting them on his side of the bed. Cas makes an impatient little noise that makes Dean smile, even if he’s really tired because it’s three in the morning, and he has an infant daughter. Sleep is important. “And then, tomorrow, we’ll look into it, okay? We’ll find a salon that does little kid hair, we’ll watch a couple of videos, we’ll read a blog. But we need to sleep, okay? We don’t need to do her hair right now.”_

_“I know, you’re right. But what if we mess something up? She’s a_ person _and we’re supposed to just know how to raise her and take care of her well enough so she can be an adult one day and raise her own baby? If she wants a baby. I’m not saying she has to have a baby—”_

_“Cas, calm the fuck down. She’s four months old. She’s not having a baby tonight.”_

After Cas freaked out about their ability to raise a child (a little too late, in Dean’s opinion), they did end up doing even more research into parenting, read some books, even took a couple of classes. They’re academics, that’s what they do. Cas even found them a class about how to care for their daughter’s hair and it turned out he was right—it’s a little more complicated than Dean had thought, a few more steps involved than shampoo, condition, brush—but they learned.

Now, Billie is about to be four—in five months, but who’s counting? She’s a bit of a fashionista, thanks to her aunt Jess, and she has definite preferences about her hair. Currently, she favors the slightly less high-maintenance hairstyle she’s sporting, but Dean knows that it could change any time, and they could be headed to the salon to have it braided by a professional. Dean also thinks his daughter is kind of a genius, and she’s loving and gentle. And at the moment, her goal in life is to be a car.

Not a mechanic, or an engineer. No, his baby wants to literally be a car. Cas tried to explain to her that she couldn’t, but it all ended in tears, so Dean told her that if she wanted to be a car, she could be a car. She’ll change her mind next week, he’s sure. She’s three, she doesn’t need to know what she wants to be when she grows up.

Also, she likes mustard on her pretzels, just like her Papa. Cas is ridiculously proud of their daughter’s eating habits. She’s the least picky eater Dean’s ever heard of, thanks to some book Cas read about encouraging diverse eating habits, and now she’s the only three-year-old he knows who likes chicken nuggets, but also risotto and baba ganoush. When they go out to eat, Cas gladly orders off the adult menu for her though the majority of it ends up in a takeout box; not even his daughter has _that_ big of an appetite. 

“And what were you working on in the office, Pops?”

Cas swallows his mouthful of pretzel while Dean sifts through the fruit drawer for a pear that’s soft enough to eat. “Oh, some of the lab work I requested came through today, and a couple of x-rays Balthazar wanted me to look at. I told him it’s my day off and he said if I was looking at lab work I could look at x-rays.”

“You pushover.”

“Balthazar saved your life; I can be a pushover for him.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but Cas is kind of right. Dean might have only had a mild concussion that day he ended up in the ER, but Balthazar saved his life just by noticing the symptoms Dean was experiencing. 

Dean still zones sometimes, but not very often. Having regular contact with his Guide ensures that extraneous information gets filtered for him. Cas keeps him balanced. When things start to get too loud in any sense of the word, Cas is there to help him through it. He still struggles, some days. Dean figures it all balances out. After all, in what world does Dean Winchester deserve to be married to his perfect Guide, and have his dream job, and a daughter? It's got to be a dream, he thinks sometimes. Cas does his best to convince him he deserves it.

“Dean, what’s this?” Cas is sifting through their mail while he eats his snack, and Dean hasn’t had a chance to look through the mail himself yet, so he has no idea what he’s talking about.

“What’s what?”

“You’ve got a letter, and the return address is from NASA. Something you want to tell me?”

“Probably just some kind of wrap-up about the conference last week, lemme see.”

Dean opens the envelope, and he expects to see some kind of information about accessing the continuing education credits that were earned at the conference, maybe a little pamphlet about the future of space travel. He doesn’t expect a formal invitation from the director of the Langley Research Center to consult, based on Dean’s research. They want his expertise in order to improve their ability to construct structures in space. Holy shit.

“Holy _shit_.”

“That’s a bad word!” His three-year-old daughter reprimands. But Dean is too busy staring at the paper in his hands. A letter. From NASA. Asking him to call them. What is this life?

“Dean?” Castiel takes the letter from his hands, and Dean lets it go.

Castiel scans the letter, his eyes widening as he gets further along. “They want your assistance in designing… Dean, this is huge.”

“I know.” He laughs. There’s no way this can be real, except it is. NASA wants his help. Dean Winchester.

“Do you think it’s because of the correction you made while you were there? Are you going to do it?”

“I need more details, first. But how can I turn it down, right? It’s kind of the dream.” Dean’s going to sidestep the correction thing first. Someone else would have noticed the issue with the landing gears on the rover, right? Just because it jumped out at his senses as _wrong_ (and then had to figure out _what_ was wrong) doesn’t mean someone else wouldn’t have noticed. The idea that Dean noticed a crucial error that would’ve set fucking _NASA_ back years if the thing was a dud once it landed… he couldn’t even fathom it.

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, babe.” Then he marvels a little more. “How did they even…?”

“Your research is published.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like it’s in some huge journal.”

“I may not be an aerospace engineer, but even I know your research was well-received. Bobby told me you had job offers from half a dozen universities.”

“Yeah, but, not NASA.”

“You told me yourself about the issue you fixed with the rover, that had to have grabbed their attention.”

“I guess,” Dean feels like he’s constantly stuck in a loop of hoping and dreading people noticing him. It’s put him in some weird positions, and with Cas’s help, he’s come a long way in accepting himself as being good at his job.

“You should call them.”

“I will.”

“Right now!”

Dean supposes he should. Maybe this is the next phase of his career. He gives Cas a kiss on the cheek and then heads to his own office downstairs, where the setup is a little larger than Cas’s. Dean sometimes needs the space to build models even though everything’s mostly digital these days, and there’s a pretty large light table in the room for him to review blueprints when they aren’t available digitally. The room also contains Cas’s huge sectional from when they first met, off in its own area, the projector setup too awesome for Dean to give it up when they moved into this house a few years ago.

He sits down on the big sofa and reflects. Seven years ago, Dean thought he was at the end of the line until Cas showed up. His Guide changed his life, enriched it more than Dean had ever thought possible. And now somehow Dean’s abilities are stable enough that not only does he have a steady job, but he’s also becoming well-respected in his field, occasionally able to identify structural weaknesses before anyone else, able to make connections before some others. His students like his classes. He likes teaching his classes. His work is always interesting, and he gets to conduct research with grad students.

His brother is settled down with his own kid, Jack, who’s only a year younger than Billie. Bobby and Ellen have finally given in and are living together. And he’s got Cas and Billie. He’s got everything he needs. Everything else is just icing.

He picks up the phone, and he calls NASA. “Hello, this is Dr. Dean Winchester speaking. I’d like to speak with Director Huang, please. Yes, she’s expecting my call. Thank you.”

Yeah, he’s got it good.


End file.
